Have and Have Not
by Blade of Mako
Summary: Kuja. Many fear the name. Others do their best to forget it. But all agree that he's not one to be messed with. So what happens when a Young Pickpocket crosses his path? You'd be surprised! -Rated T for language, brief romance, alcohol, law-breaking, etc.
1. Teen Pickpocket

**-Final Fantasy IX : Have and Have Not -- Chapter One : Teen Pickpocket-**

**---**

_-- Whoo! Final Fantasy IX fan fiction!At long last!I'm a big fanof the series, and finally I have a fan fiction up here to post on the topic. Andit's going to have a half-decent storyline!(insert collective gasp here) Yes, yes, I know. Hard to believe, isn't it?  
For those of you who have not played Final Fantasy IX, I would advise you not to read this for many reasons, the first being that you will not know the characters, nor the storyline, and so you will probably become completely and utterly confused.The Second is that I simply cannot guarentee that there will not be any spoilers.Since this is taking place at the same time as the Game, I have to take certain events into consideration as I write. You'll just have to search second-hand and retal stores until youfind Final FantasyIX if you really want to read this. Anyhow, enough of the boreing chat, and on with my (hopefully) not-so-boring fan fiction!  
Okay, so I lied. That's not all. Just Read and Review, please! Ilive off of your feedback! (Doesn't that sound pathetic?) --_

---

And there he was again! Did this guy really think that he was going to get away with infringing on her territory? She was going to put a stop to this here, and now.

The teenager flitted through the crowd, silent as a shadow, slipping a strange wallet into her pocket as she went. She'd look through it later. You never knew what you'd find in these stranger's wallets. Credit Cards? Embaressing family protraits? Embaressing candid shots never meant to see the light of day? Gil? Hopefully the last one, although the other ones didn't hurt either. The whole reason she'd nabbed it in the first place was for a little bit of extra cash. Okay, so it was the only cash she had on her. And okay, it wasn't just on her. It was the only cash she had. Period. But hey,she was a pickpocket, so being scrupulously honest wasn't exactly one of her strong points.

A few well applied elbows later, she emerged on the other side of the throng crowding the entrance to the auction hall, and was advancing quickly on her target. He was walking hunched-over slightly, with his hands in his pockets, his hair hidden under a bandana. If he had hair. Who knew. Every time she saw him, he was wearing something different to cover it. Maybe he didn't like the way his hair was growing or something. Everyone had their problems.

A portly gentleman clad in a cheap looking imitation of an expensive suit walked between her and the young man, sending her spinning aside like she was nothing. He grunted something through the hankerchief - also cheap, by the look of it - that he was using to mop the sweat off his face, that sounded something like "Watch where you're going!" The sweat was glistening on the top of his balding head. What was left of his hair was a dull brown, which was also dripping with sweat. Yeah, the night was humid, sure, but it wasn't enough to be sweating like that! Like she'd thought earlier, everyone had their problems.

By the time he'd waddled past, the man she'd been following was gone. She cursed, surprising even herself with how colourful her language had become in her time on the street. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she stepped a little further away from the crowd and surveyed the area.

The street had been cleaned recently. Probably in preparation for the highly-advertised and acclaimed auction tonight. The stone walls had been scrubbed. Some of the brush marks were still visible and someone had left a bucket of soapy water out. All the homeless and the drunks had been cleared off too, probably by force. The only people around were either crowding into the auction hall, leaning against the wall reading newspapers or sitting on a bench - also freshly scrubbed -, enjoying the company. And all of them were wearing clean, freshly pressed clothing and self-important looks.

And there was a door right where the Man with the Bandana had just been. It looked as if it was trying to hide himself in with the rest of the brickwork. There was only one problem. It was made of wood. Interesting. Of course, the door probably didn't know that everyone could see it. She crossed to the door quickly, took hold of the handle, and was inside within a second, letting the door swing closed behind her.

A short distance away, the Man with the Bandana lowered his newspaper and grinned. She'd been tailing him for ages and now, she'd fallen right for his trap.

It wasn't long after that, that someone else used that very same door. Someone who looked very pleased with themself. Someone who was attracting looks all the way to the door from their choice of clothes and matching, platinum hair - or perhaps it was just hiswell sculped body.

Someone who was very bad news for anyone who might be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

---

The girl crept along the plush carpeted hallway, every muscle in her body tense. The hall had a gentle curve which was pleasing to someone who had every right to be there, as it allowed them to sneak up on someone who had no right to be there. To someone had no right to be there, it was unsettling for the exact same reason. The young pickpocket picked up her pace and arrived at the balcony at a jog.

From the balcony, she could see the entire hall. There was some painting up at the front that the wealthy assembly was bidding on. One thousand gil, two thousand ...

She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She had never been fond of heights. She took another step back from the edge.

Three thousand ...

The balcony itself curved out of the wall. There was white railing around it. It looked flimsy.

Four thousand ...

The carpet was red. Deep, blood red.

There was a crystal chandelier hanging over the heads of the people down below. They were pretty far below it ... the chandelier and the people would suffer some pretty hefty damage if that were to fall. Or if she were to fall from that height. Ouch.

Six thousand ...

The people down below were all flushed with excitement. The excitement of a bargain to be had. Or the exitement of witnessing the apprehension of a criminal. She recognised it. She'd seen it plenty of times on the street. From the bystander's point of view, of course.

Eight thousand ...

There was a squat guy in a pointy hat waddling around. He stopped and talked for a few moments with some idiot wearing a suit of armour, no doubt one of the Knights of Pluto. So yes, she could safely assume that he was an idiot. They were almost as bad as the Alexandrian Guard. Honestly, who wore full torso armour, but left their legs open to attack?

Thirteen thousand ...

Then the both of them turned and looked directly at her.

Fifteen thousand ...

Time to make a hasty retreat. Now she was certain that she wasn't supposed to be standing there. Not with the way the Thing with the Pointy Hat was looking at her, and not with the astounded look on the Knight's face. After a moment, the Knight would get over his surprise - well, most probably - and call for backup - because, from the look of him, he wasn't the kind of guy who ran after people himselves. Especially not teenage girls who lived on the street and so were used to moving pretty darn quickly. She turned to leave and found herself staring a pair of steely grey-blue eyes.

Twenty-Five Thousand ...

She found herself completely paralyzed, completely exposed. Completely at his mercy. If he had any.

Thirty thousand ...

His hands grasped her upper arms, preventing her from running away. Not that she was capable of moving. But he didn't know that. She knew however. And she knew how much trouble she was in. And she also knew that the Man with the Bandana hadn't come this way.

There were some gasps in the crowd below. Someone must have bid an excessively high amount of cash on that ugly oil painting.

He nodded over her shoulder. Probably at the Knight and that Thing. It was a nod that said not to worry, that he'd take care of everything. The small part of her mind that wasn't frozen in fear made a mental note to figure out what that Pointy-Hatted Thing was. Later, that is. Right now **really** wasn't the time.

One Hundred, Fifteen Thousand ...

She could just imagine the Knight looking relieved that it wasn't his call anymore. Now he could focus his attention back to lugging that extensive gut of his around, and doing his best to look like he really wasn't a few days away from retirement.

The cold eyes met hers again. They looked amused. She wished that she could say that expression was mirrored in her own. In truth, she was terrified, rooted to the spot. And she was certain that he could tell. Maybe that was the reason he looked so amused.

One Hundred, Seventy Thousand ...

A hand was placed on the small of her back, a hand that had just been clasping her arm. A soft voice whispered, closer to her ear than she'd realised her was. "Don't cause a scene. Things will be easier that way."

She bent to his will. What else was there to do? As far as she knew, she hadn't broken any major laws. She wasn't wanted by the Crown. She hadn't been labelled as a traitor in any of the places she'd ever visited. The only reason she had been caught now, is because she was in the wrong place at exactly the wrong time. So why give them a reason to lock her up.

He pushed against her back when she didn't move, propelling her forwards a few steps, away from the edge of the balcony and back into the curving hallway. Within seconds, the two had dissapeared from the sight of the crowd assembled below. Both the Knight and the Black Mage moved away from each other and began their lazy patrol of the auction hall once more, expecting no more excitement for the night.

An excited gasp ran through the crowd.

Sold.


	2. Inebriation

**- Final Fantasy IX : Have and Have Not -- Chapter Two : Inebriation -**

---

_-- Well. Chapter two. Here you all go. heh It just lets you in on a bit more of the story, nothing too special. You'll probably love it if you're a fan of Tantalus group, though. No Zidane here at the moment. Sorry about that. Beyond my control, though! Blame the whole thing on Garnet!Anyhow,on with the reading(and positive reviewing - hint HINT!)--_

---

"So!" Blank demanded, pounding a fist on the table. Some of the beer sloshed out of his full pint and added another soggy stain to the wooden table. He looked down at it, then mumbled an apology. Whether it was to the newcomer for being so rude or to the beer was unknown.

Marcus slid into the seat opposite him, trying to ignore the questioning looks he was getting from all around the table. Instead of answering, he adjusted his bandanna, and reached for the pitcher in the center of the table. After pouring himself a tall glass of beer, he'd almost taken a swig when someone punched a fist into his back.

"Come on now!" Baku thundered, just short of a drunken rage. "You've been filling us in on your love life for weeks, now's not the time to be gettin' shy!"

"Especially if there's juicy details to be discussed!"

There was a general murmur of assent around the table. Blank grinned and took a long pull of beer, relieved that they were ganging up on Marcus and not him. For once.

Marcus set his beer down on the table, where it would be as safe as it could get while surrounded by drunken thieves. He looked around the table for a moment in contemplation, taking in the excited (and drunken) gazes that the other members of Tantalus were giving him.

"Fine ..." he said after a moment, defeated. "I'll fill you in ...

"Well, I saw her again today. I was down near the auction hall. There's an auction there today, so all the rich snobs are in one place."

"So easy ..." Baku muttered.

Marcus nodded before continuing. "She must have thought so too, 'cause she was there. The both of us just minded our own business for a few minutes, I found a couple of rally fat wallets ..."

"Get on with it!"

Marcus raised his hands. "I'm getting there! So, she ended up seeing me, and--"

"Did she kiss you!" Blank demanded.

Marcus huffed. "This is **my** story here, Blank!"

"Right, right ..." the thief mumbled into his beer.

"She was fighting her way through the crowd towards me, but this guy walked in front of her and I hid. You know, I just wanted to see if she could find me. Before you look at me like that, I just picked up a newspaper and hid my face behind it." There were some murmers of agreement; that was alright. It was still possible for the girl to find him. "And ... er ... well ... I think I got her into some trouble."

The eyes of his fellow thieves around the table were wide. "Did ... did you get ... her pregnant!" Cinna asked in a reverent whisper. Blank looked around as if he expected to see the Girl sitting at another table nearby.

"No. No!" Marcus waved his hands to bring all attention back to him. "No, nothing like that! What do you guys take me for anyways!"

There were a few embarrassed mumbles, which were quickly shut up by those responsible taking rather long gulps of beer and then choking on them.

Baku pounded on Cinna's back. "Shut up! He's gotta tell us exactly what went on!"

Tears were streaming down Cinna's face as he sucked in a gasp of air. "Alright, alright, just stop that!"

Marcus finally got the time to take a drink. The cool liquid was welcomed wholeheartedly by his dry mouth. "Anyways." He set his cup back down on the table and leaned forwards. "She walked right by me and went in this door at the auction hall. Not the main one, this smaller door off to the side. The one that there's usually a guard outside of. Okay, there was no guard there today, that's how she got in."

"Aaaand?" Blank looked expectant. "What's so wrong with that? So she got a little lost."

"I'm not done yet. I figured that I'd make it easier for her on the way out and stand closer to the door, without the newspaper and all, but then this guy walked up. And let me tell you, this guy was acting as though he had every right to be there. I could tell by looking, this was no guy to be messed with. He went through the door ... I waited there for a few more minutes, and I can tell you guys, I was sweating." He took a swig of beer. "I waited for half an hour. She never came out."

There was silence at the table.

"Whoa," Blank finally said, slumping back in his chair. "Harsh, man."

Cinna put on a goofy grin. "To me, it sounds like this other guy found her and then two of them're gettin' along pretty well." He laughed, but he was the only one who did. Blank glared at him, and Baku made a rather threatening gesture which involved his neck.

Marcus groaned and kneaded his closed eyes with the palms of his hands. "I was trying not to think of that. I was hoping that she was just taken prisoner. You know, something fixable."

Baku looked thoughtful. Well, as thoughtful as a drunken man could look. "We're close to some people with the inside scoop. Why don't we just ask around! Someone'll know where this guy hangs out." He took a clumsy pull out of his near-empty glass. "We're gonna get this girl o' yours back!"

Marcus offered a grin, then took a long drink to hide the fact that he really didn't think that they could do it. For one, the guys were drunk. Promises made when the guys were drunk, were usually forgotten in the hangovers that followed. For another, they hadn't seen the guy that had walked in after Her. He, Marcus, had and he knew that this was certainly not one to be messed with. Especially not if the aggressor was a small-time group like Tantalus.

Marcus looked down into his mug of amber-coloured beer and heaved a troubled sigh. He just wanted to be back on the street, stealing wallets and other little things that people just wouldn't miss until later, not in this bar worrying about a girl. When was the last time he'd worried about a girl? Who knew ... there weren't many out there worth worrying about. And now he'd found one and what did he do? Led her right into a trap. If that wasn't a relationship ender he wasn't sure what was.

Oh well. He picked up his mug and took a long swig, followed by a belch. He might as well. If he was inebriated, he couldn't remember what he'd done wrong. Thank goodness. There was a lot he didn't want to remember.


	3. Insanity and Gargants

**- Final Fantasy IX : Have and Have Not -- Chapter Three : Insanity and Gargants-**

_---_

_-- Those of you who have been reading my site probably know all about why this chapter took so long, but for those of you with slow internet connections (and who use Firefox, since my site isn't compatible), I owe you an explanation. It's all Kuja's fault.  
See, he was being moody, and wouldn't tell me what he wanted to say, so I had to sit around for ages waiting ... and then when he finally decided that he wanted to get on with the story, I was busy with Aftermath (check out my account on it's on my site and it'll be up here soon enough), and so had to ignore him.  
But anyways, the hiatus is over now, and although the chapters are going to be coming slowly due to the Trojan Virus on my computer that shuts it down at random, they will be coming. I'm attempting to get in the market for a laptop so that I can stop yelling at the computer whenever it deletes everything I've written, but, as of right now, I haven't been making great leaps and bounds.  
But that's my problem. Until next time, read and review, please! --_

_---_

"And you're telling me **that** thing is going to eat **this**!" The yellow flower in her hands trembled as the beast rounded the corner again to stampede past. A fine trickle of dust fell from the rocky ceiling. Was this place stable? She'd asked that at first, but she hadn't been awarded an answer. Maybe He thought it was a question unworthy of his time.

He chuckled, shaking his head, as if he found her an amusing child. He hadn't said much the entire time they'd been in the tunnel. Or before they were in the tunnel. All in all, he'd hardly managed to string more than two sentences together since they'd met.

They'd left the auction hall via a small door in the wall. She hadn't noticed it before because if was completely concealed; made to look exactly like the wall around it. It closed promptly behind them as well. Sealing them off from the world. Sealing off any chance of escape she might have.

The tunnel behind the wall had slanted steeply downwards. The only light had been the torches placed in their sconces in the damp, mossy walls. The flames cast sickly, flickering light across the ancient stonework, made their shadows seem like ghostly spectres, looming in the corners of their conscious.

The journey up to this point had been tense, the silence absolute. She feared the answers that he may give the questions that were clawing at her closed lips, screaming to get out. His face was unreadable, completely devoid of any sign, any tiny scrap that may open a window into his thoughts. No matter how many glances she stole at him, nothing could be discerned.

He'd brought her to what seemed to be a building, buried under years of civilization. Craning her neck, she was awarded a wonderful view of the low, crumbling ceiling, looming over her with a certain crushing certainty, which was only accented by the thick, inky shadows lurking in the damp, mould-ridden corners. Again, there was silence as he pulled a lever on the wall, and more silence then followed. At least, until a rumbling reached the brick platform that they were standing on, and a giant creature barrelled past.

The creature was, quite honestly, the most bizarre thing that the pickpocket had ever seen. It was a dull brown in colour from abdomen to the tips of it's antennae. As it strode along the ceiling, it flitted it's wings and gnashed large mandibles, shaking it's head in a manner that suggested there was nothing that could possibly annoy it further than being there right now. Each long, armoured leg ended in a single, lethal looking claw, a claw that the creature was using the cling to the crumbling rock. A carriage dangled haphazardly below the Thing, held in place by rusted chains, attached to an ancient-looking harness.

It was then that he'd chosen to tell her that this was their mode of transportation.

She was quick to point out the problems with that thought. Firstly, there was the fact that, even if they could get that thing to stop -- which seemed rather unlikely, she had noted as the creature barrelled past again -- there was no guarantee that it was going to ferry them to wherever they were headed; and secondly she wasn't going **anywhere** until she at least knew what was going on.

This seemed to amuse him. But, then again, what didn't seem to amuse him? This guy was one big walking ... erm ... amused person. The pickpocket sighed. Her analogies were going to need some serious work if she was going to keep this running commentary to herself going.

Still chuckling to himself over some silent joke that she knew nothing of, her companion had located a clump of yellow flowers, and picked one from the bunch. "It will stop for this," he had said, holding out the flower to her, "as long as it is hungry enough."

As the creature tore by again, carriage still swinging wildly below it, he nodded to her. "Yes," he said patiently, "I **am** saying that the Gargant will eat that. And that, if you do not **offer** it to the Gargant, we're not going to get anywhere."

She stayed resolutely where she was gripping the flower in a hand that she was trying hard to keep from trembling. "No. I'm not doing anything until I get an explanation."

He heaved an exasperated sigh. The expression on his face was clearly readable, especially for a girl who'd spent time on the street, anticipating what people would do by expression and posture. _This girl is tiresome. I should never have bothered._ Or something along those lines, anyways. Sometimes it was hard to get the exact feeling across, but she usually got the gist.

What would his next move be? she mused privately. Maybe leave her here? No, he wasn't the type to do all this and then just abandon his efforts. Not from what she'd seen of him. He'd persevere, if only to get her to whatever punishment he'd been planning.

While she was still pondering over what he may do, he took action. An exasperated expression still playing across his face, he strode forwards, grabbed her wrist, and thrust it out into the path of the moving Gargant, nearly throwing her off balance. After reeling for a moment on the very edge of the platform, she threw all her weight in the opposite direction, towards her companion. He didn't flinch, not even in the slightest as he took on most of her weight.

Well, maybe that wasn't quite right. It wasn't like he was holding her or anything (much to her chagrin). Still, she could feel her face heating up -- a rare occurrence in itself -- as she clung to him for support. She shook her head to push some of her straight, dark hair out of her line of sight, then looked the man over. Before, she had been too much in shock, and too scared to really pay attention to what he looked like ... or how attractive he really was.

He was clad mostly in white and royal purple, but the silver of his long hair was easily the most noticeable thing about him. His clothes either hugged his sculpted body, or left it bare. And his eyes ... his eyes were the most captivating colour ... they almost seemed to be purple, no, indigo, but they were so pale that it was almost impossible to see the colour. It was so hard to describe ...

She was still staring, star-struck at him as the Gargant drew to a halt, and snatched up the flower from her hand. The feeling of the giant insect's mandibles brushing against her fingers made her shudder, but still the man did not relinquish his grip on her wrist. In fact, they stayed like that until the Gargant had taken the flower's stem, swallowed it whole, and had inspected her fingers for any bits of flower she might have been hiding. Then the strange creature heaved a satisfied sigh and pulled it's head back from her trembling fingers. At the same time, the man let go of her wrist, and she dropped her arm back to her side, managing to step away from him, finally.

If he noticed her staring at him, he said nothing. He was probably used to it, she noted, especially if he went out often dressed as he was now. He stepped from the platform they were standing on and into the rickety looking carriage hanging from the Gargant. She gulped just watching him. It swung dangerously as he turned to look at her, cocking a brow. "Well? Are you coming?"  
She stared. His voice was the deep, rich, chocolaty kind of voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine. For a few moments, she considered doing nothing just to hear him speak once more, but the thought was dashed when the Gargant shifted restlessly and let out a snuffling sound, shaking it's head from side to side as it took a hesitant step forwards. Scared of being left behind, she sprinted to the edge of the platform and stumbled into the carriage.

He caught her easily as she stumbled into his chest and swept her off her feet. Before she could react, though he set her down on one of the benches. He seated himself opposite. "Now," he said, assuming a relaxed position, "I want an explanation. A full one. What were you doing on **my** private balcony?"


	4. Hangover

**- Final Fantasy IX : Have and Have Not -- Chapter Four : Hangover -**

_---_

_-- Well, it seems that I have finally won out against the Trojan virus on my computer! For the past few days, it hasn't been shutting down my computer (at least, now while I have been on, and I haven't hear my parents complaining), and I caught it trying to re-install itself the other day and successfully blocked it! So that will not be a setback (I hope).  
Unfortunately, I have run into another setback -- High school. For me, it starts tomorrow (Tuesday September 6th), and among the fact that I'm on a completely foreign bus (to me) and that there's going to be even more popular morons who think they're God's Gift to Mankind in my classes (from what I've seen of the popular people's course selections, anyhow), I'm also going to have to deal with homework (something I had mercifully been without all summer). As well, if I suddenly have a burst of inspiration in the middle of class, I'll either have to repress it, or write it down by hand (which will take a LONG time, by the way, as I am a much faster typer). So, that is most likely why the next chapter will probably be a little ways off ...  
Read and review, as always, please! (I want to know if this story line of mine is turning out half-decently!) --_

_---_

"You shouldn't have drank so much!" Blank chided, dropping Marcus unceremoniously into his favourite armchair. "Sure, you lost the girl to some good-looking bastard," he continued, turning on the tap and pouring a glass of water, "but that's no reason to go and drink yourself into oblivion!" He paused. That hadn't come out right ... oh well, too late to turn back now. Besides, Marcus was drunk, he probably wouldn't remember any of this. "I mean, come on, she can't have been **that** good looking!"

Marcus groaned and accepted the glass of water. "You don't understand! She was gorgeous, Blank!" He paused and tipped half of the glass down his front in an attempt to drink from it. "You should have seen her, Blank ... Her hair, her body ... she's beautiful. I should have just told her that ..." He stared sadly into his glass.

"You know, when you're drunk, you're pretty profound." Blank sat himself down on another chair in the tiny apartment. "Say, you never did describe her for me ..."

There was silence.

"Hey, if it's too painful for you, then --"

"She had red hair. When the sun hit it, there were parts that would blaze like ... like fire, and the rest would be so dark a red, it'd almost be black. She wore her hair short, just to around her chin ... it emphasized her elfin face ... And she had the most beautiful eyes. They were the deepest blue, a crystal blue ... beautiful."

"Hey, hey!" Blank jumped to his feet with protest, and then immediately regretted the action as his head hammered with pain. He sank into the chair with a small groan, searching for where he'd left off. "What's up with the past-tense? Like we said, we'll get her back!"

"No we won't," came the remorseful voice from the armchair, "you didn't see the guy ... The women he walked by nearly melted. She's meant to be with someone better looking than me, I can tell you that ..."

"Oh, get a hold of yourself! You're a thief, she's a thief, you stare and drool every time she walks by, the two of you are **meant** to be together!" Blank pounded a fist into his open palm. "And we're going to make sure that happens! Understand!"

A small moan emitted from the depths of the armchair.

"That's the spirit! Now, what we're going to do is ask around for someone who's seen them, and once we know where they've gone, we can -- are you listening?" Another moan. "Come on, Marcus, a lot of hard work went into this plan, show a little initiative! Now's not the time to be moping!"

"I think now's a perfect time to be moping ..." Marcus lent his head back and stared blankly at the ceiling, noting that it was made of old, cracked plaster, and wondering how much luck it would take for it to fall down on him right then and there.

Blank scowled, clearly annoyed. "Fine then! Let the girl walk away!" With a huff he turned his back and stalked from the room.

Marcus watched him go with a blank expression on his face. "Uh huh ..." was all he could say. His head was beginning to pound as his body realised it had consumed too much alcohol in too short a time, just adding to the emotional pain that he was feeling. He raised the glass of water that she was still holding to his lips and took a long drink. It was going to be a long night.

---

His first rejection had been when he was ten. Marcus could remember it clearly, even through the fog of his hangover. Her name had been Marietta, and she'd called him gross when he'd offered her a bite of the mud pie he'd been slaving over for hours just for her.

Even then, he'd understood the rejection and he'd lamented over it. Yes, he had done that by throwing the mud pie in her face, but that had been his way of dealing with it at that tender age.

"Wish I could throw a mud in that bastard's face ..." he muttered, pressing a hand against his aching forehead. "It's just what he deserves ... damned pretty-boy."

Of course ... he was guilty of rejecting people too. That one girl -- what was her name? Started with a C, didn't it? -- had been trying to get him into bed for the better part of a year, and she hadn't yet given up. Maybe he could learn something from that ... there had to be a lesson in there somewhere, right?

"Damn right ... I'll have to stay away from her from now on. Who knows what grief might make me do ..."

Marcus got up and stumbled across the room to the tiny kitchen, aiming for the refrigerator. Finding it, he opened the door, looking for anything cold. "Ouch! Dammit! Stupid oven ... Who leaves one of those things out in the open when it's still hot anyways!"

A few minutes later, having successfully located the fridge and a cold bottle of something that vaguely resembled orange juice, Marcus was again seated in the armchair Blank had so graciously placed him in beforehand, his head throbbing with the pain of his hangover. He pressed the bottle to his head and sighed graciously.

He must have fallen asleep, for when he came to consciousness again, the warm bottle of pinkish-orange liquid was in his lap and pale grey light was filtering in through the open windows. He groaned. Why on Earth had he played around with her? Why hadn't he just walked up to her, told her that she was beautiful, swept her into his arms, and carried her off? He didn't even know her name, and yet ... he couldn't sleep not knowing where she was. He'd nearly drunk himself into oblivion for her. And, even as he tried to blame her for all of his pain, he knew that it was really his fault.


	5. Virtually Unnoticed

**- Final Fantasy IX : Have and Have Not -- Chapter Five : Virtually Unnoticed -**

**---**

_-- Okay, okay, stop looking at me like that! I know, this stupid god forsaken chapter took forever. My characters were being moody (something about me not getting enough chocolate), Geography is the most horrible thing ever invented (and my teacher should be terrorised by Freddy Krueger for giving so many idiotic assignments!), and there have been a few minor crisis that I seem to be mediator on (when people will actually tell me what's wrong).  
So. That's what's happened to me. As well as the fact that the name shifter Trojan is not only back, but attacking my computer with a vengeance that all horror movie slashers would be proud of.  
So. There you have it. My pathetic excuses. Might as well get on with reading! --_

_---_

"I'm a pickpocket," she started, after taking a deep breath to fortify her nerves. "I've lived out on the streets for a few years, getting by on ... er, well, I'm sure you know ..." She looked up at him but he said nothing, his face giving away no signs of any thoughts. The pickpocket plowed on, regardless. "I was outside the auction hall, since I knew there were going to be people around, and I could slip through the crowd virtually unnoticed."

He held up a hand to silence her. "And what, I ask, did you steal this time?"

She grinned sheepishly, reaching into a sealed pocket on her hip and producing a wallet. She held it out to him, and he took it gently from her hand, opening it to inspect the contents. He tried the various compartments, his fingers working as though he were a seasoned professional in searching things ... but she was too busy looking at his face to notice. His expression was collected, easily controlled, giving her no window into his mind. His eyes were trained on the small, leather object in his hands, giving away nothing; he showed no surprise, no interest, no anything as he rifled through the unknown person's belongings.

The teen knew what he would do next. He would, undoubtedly, pocket the wallet as evidence against her, then order her to continue with the explanation. She herself would never get the chance to see the inside of the wallet she had worked so hard to steal. She had worked for years perfecting her technique: learning how to blend into crowds, learning the art of distraction, figuring out where wallets and other valuables were most likely to be kept, and how to trick people into inadvertently showing her where they were. And for what? Well, most likely a nice, comfy jail cell in some major prison, along with whatever punishment he must be coming up with under that silky hair of his.

She nearly sighed audibly as he looked back up at her. Those eyes of his were so gorgeous; she could stare into them all day, drown in them. She could picture herself running her hand through that silky hair of his ... oh, how she wished that she could!

Something was pressed into her hand. Starting with surprise, she looked down, to see the brown, leather wallet that she'd earlier stolen clenched within her fingers. Shocked, she looked up at him, to find that his expression had softened somewhat. Perhaps he'd mistaken the look on her face for fear ...?

"Continue," he said simply.

She gulped, carefully slipping the wallet carefully back into a pocket, not knowing exactly what was going to happen if she gave an answer he didn't like. "I was following someone -- another pickpocket -- who's been following me around. I was going to tell him off, but he disappeared right around the doorway to your balcony. I figured that he must have gone in, so I went in too ..."

His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "There are always guards posted outside of that door."

Her heartbeat accelerated. "There wasn't when I went in. Maybe they were changing the guard or something ..." Her excuse sounded pathetically weak, even to her own ears.

His eyes were still narrowed when she dropped her gaze, unable to look at him anymore. Why wouldn't he believe her! She was telling the truth; what reason did she have to lie to him! This was just great ... she'd been dragged through a stuffy, underground passage, taken to some old city that was not only completely deserted and forgotten, but underground, and now loaded onto some sort of carriage being carried by a giant cricket, all with this man who could barely manage to string two sentences together! And, she admitted, even after he'd put her through all this, he was impossibly good looking ...

Luckily for her, it was at that moment that the Gargant stopped, shaking it's head and gnashing it's mandibles. The man she was with stepped out of the carriage and turned to her, holding out a hand to help her out. She ignored it and made it across the gap to the platform on her own, stumbling slightly as she landed, but somehow managing to stay on her feet.

She thought she might have heard a snicker come from him. "This way," was all he said before he turned away from her and walked off.

The young pickpocket had no choice but to follow. Casting one last look over her shoulder at the slowly retreating form of the Gargant, she followed this unknown man into the darkness.

---

There were so many stairs ...

Whoever had made this place obviously was never forced to walk up these stairs. There must be **thousands** of them! The pickpocket was panting as she jogged up the stairs to keep up with the man's long strides. How many stairs had she climbed up? Five hundred? Maybe more. And still, there was no end to them in sight!

"How many stairs are there around here?" she puffed, following closely in the man's wake.

He turned his head slightly to look at her. "A fair few." The corners of his mouth turned up in a thin smile. "Tired already?"

The pickpocket stared resolutely ahead, forcing herself not to rise to the bait. She wouldn't allow herself to become venerable around him, not like she had before. She refused to show him the weakness that she had for him.

She was still scowling resolutely at the stairs in front of her when he came to a stop, grabbing her arm to keep her from walking. Clearly surprised, she looked up at him, trying to gulp down the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat.

"Stay here," he instructed firmly, "until I come for you. Understand."

She nodded wordlessly, afraid of what she may say if she opened her mouth.

With a stern look to ensure that she stayed in her place, he turned and hurried up the few remaining stairs. There was the sound of something heavy moving, and then nothing. Until ...

"Kuja! I've told you, don't use that passageway! You scared me -- I thought you were a robber!"

The voice was high-pitched, grating against the pickpocket's ears even though she was no where near the speaker. The tone echoed around the stone chamber that she stood in, which she was suddenly aware was quite cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, but otherwise did nothing, straining to hear what the man (evidently named Kuja) was saying in that soft, sure tone of his.

"My apologies, your Majesty. But I've come with news, and I wanted you to hear it as soon as possible."

The girl tensed, her thoughts screaming that this was the reason he'd brought her here. He must not have believed her story -- he thought she had been doing something illegal! And not only that, but he'd taken her to **the queen**!

"Oh? What is it then?"

There was a few seconds of silence. To the pickpocket, it seemed like an eternity.

"I believe," Kuja finally started, "that I have found a good lead as to where the Princess Garnet has gotten to -- a new source of mine tells me of a thief spotted in Treno. I believe this might be a member of the group Tantalus."

A slight pause. "Who is this source?" The voice of the Queen was suspicious.

There was a smile in Kuja's voice. "Trust me, your majesty, my source has no reason to lie to me."

A satisfied sniff and the sound of someone lumbering to their feet. "Very good. I'll go check on that now ..." The voice died off as she and apparently Kuja moved away from the passage.

She stood still for a moment, feeling the silence pressing against her. Remembering how cold she was now that there were no voices for her to focus on, she shivered, peering up the last little bit of spiraling staircase. Warm light spilled across the stone, splashing orange light across the wall. It looked so inviting ...

Her feet carried her soundlessly up the last few steps, feeling warmth spill over her as she entered the room atop the passage.

The walls were upholstered in what could only be described as a lavish fashion. The carpet that stretched across the floor was a beautiful, royal red, and spongy -- almost bouncy, it was so thick. Flickering candles rested on every available surface, giving off heat and an almost sickly sweet scent.

Turning to look behind her, the pickpocket noticed that the entrance she had come through, seemed to be concealed behind the fireplace -- which didn't seem to be a real fireplace, but a lightweight copy, made for the sole purpose of covering the passageway.

A hand landed heavily on her shoulder.

She would have cried out in surprise, but the voice spoke first. "I thought I told you to stay put."

Kuja turned her to face him and, when he did, she was surprised to see that he didn't look angry, just amused, as if he'd expected to find her there. "Come with me." With that, he turned, dropping his hand from her shoulder, and walked to the door. The teen was hot on his heels.

The halls that they passed through were well-lit and well guarded. By this time, there was no doubt in the pickpocket's mind that they were in the Royal Palace of Alexandria -- the paintings were well-preserved and expensive-looking, the marble floors were polished until it hurt to look at them, and there was almost no one about.

_I feel like a stain_, she thought with a sigh. _Everything around here's so clean ..._ She looked down disdainfully at her outfit. Stains had built up over the years on the pale grey material of her shirt, turning it to a deep, almost black, whereas in other places it had been worn thin, appearing to be almost white. Her pants, which were black, hid the stains well, but were torn and threadbare. _I'm glad there's no one around to see me tracking dirt everywhere ..._

She tracked dirt through three more halls and up a staircase before Kuja drew to a halt. The door that he stopped in front of, she noted, was certainly not the most ornate, nor the grandest that they had passed. Perhaps that meant they didn't lead anywhere too important ...?

Kuja opened the door then looked over at her. _Well?_ his eyes seemed to say to her. _Why are you hesitating?_

_Because I'm afraid,_ she admitted to herself bitterly. _I've let you get under my skin, and now I'm afraid. _Her feet felt like they were made of lead as she forced herself through the door, ahead of him.

Inside was nothing like she'd imagined.

She always had had trouble with her imagination. Whenever she was alone, it always opted for garish figures of silent and speedy death other than comforting pictures of a fire, lovingly stoked by someone just relishing the happy warmth of the orange flames. It was probably because of this that she had been almost horribly wrong about what was behind the door.

It was a dwelling, basically in the same marble-floored-expensive-furniture theme as the rest of the palace. It reminded her slightly of the Queen's room but more ... masculine. Lain across the dark wood table in the middle of the room was a wickedly curved dagger. She gulped, but had to admit that she was glad to see that there were no signs of blood on the perfect silver blade. The rest of the room matched the table -- dark, but oddly inviting. The walls were painted a deep, strawberry wine, and instead of a carpet, dark wood planks stretched across the floor to hide under various rugs that matched the walls. Candles were everywhere, casting flickering, waning light.

It was a fitting look for Kuja's dwelling.

He walked past her, and the door swung shut behind him. Striding across the room, clearly at ease, he gave an easy flick of his wrist, indicating for her to follow him. She did, although very slowly, attempting to drag her feet without it becoming too obvious that she was trying to delay as much as possible.

As he walked, he spoke to her over his shoulder. "I know you're probably not going to like this suggestion, but I'm going to have to ask you to bathe -- you're tracking dirt everywhere."

She opened her mouth to object, but he held up a hand, as if he knew what she was going to say. "No, on second though, I'm not asking. I'm **demanding**."

The look that he fixed her with made her stop in her tracks. It was so icy, so forbidding, that she instantly knew there was no other choice in the matter. "Wh--"

He pointed, knowing that she was about to ask where to go. _Well then,_ she thought, _I guess I'll just go quietly to my death then ... _She must have scowled, since he was suddenly right in front of her, snarling into her ear, his hand gripping her elbow so hard she feared it might snap. "Do you understand me?" The amusement was gone from his eyes, having fled before the rage that now resided there.

"Yes." She spat the word in an attempt to hide the fear rising in her throat. His mood seemed to change with dangerous swiftness.

"Good. Then **Go**." He hissed the words back at her, easily surpassing the strength that she had tried to force into her own voice. Using his sturdy grip on her elbow, her propelled her to the right, making her stumble as she set off.


	6. Courting

**- Final Fantasy IX : Have and Have Not -- Chapter Six : Courting -**

_---_

_Well, there's not too much to say. My computer still has problems, instead of writing this I should be studying for exams, and it still seems that people just don't take to my work. I don't know why I even bother to write a blurb anymore. Long chapter, here, for those of you who are still clinging to the burning wreckage of this fan fiction. And more on the way, I suppose._

_---_

Inside the castle ... inside his quarters ... he seemed to turn into a different person. The pickpocket found the bathroom and fumbled with the knob on the door, her eyes clouded by the thoughts swirling in her head. Inside the castle walls, he'd seemed to transform. His temper shortened, and the amusement that usually clung to him vanished.

The bathroom was the same deep colours as the rest of the house; deep wine red and mahogany. She swept the large room with eyes too vacant with her own affairs to really take in the beautiful setting. Even as she stared at her reflection, she didn't register the mirror, running along the wall in it's entirety from from the floor to the high ceiling; nor did she notice the counter running along the opposite wall, complete with a large wine coloured basin and assorted bottles huddled around it. The whole room was humid, as if it had been used recently. Maybe before he'd stumbled across her ... that would explain why his hair was so wonderfully silky-looking ...

Did he **always** have mood swings like that? Her own moods didn't change that fast, and she was only eighteen -- for her, that sort of thing was normal! How come she just couldn't meet someone who wasn't interested in either stealing from her, or killing her?

She crossed the room and absently turned the tap on the tub to hot, her thoughts swirling along with the steaming water. She seated herself on the edge of the tub and trailed her hand in the water as the basin filled.

It must have been the whole I'd-rather-be-a-pickpocket-than-live-under-your-roof thing that'd messed everything up. Sure, she wasn't being paraded around in dresses with enough lace to smother her anymore, and the guys who expressed their interest weren't interested in the money she would inherit one day. No, the guys on the street had class ... and were more interested in the part of her mother's genes she had already inherited.

She laughed bitterly to herself. She never should have left home ... as bad as it had been there ... it beat having people try and kill you everywhere you turned. It was better than the betrayal she faces every day.

It was better than knowing you were in love with someone who could never return it.

---

Every day used to be heavy with the knowledge that her whole future was set out for her. The horrible, crushing weight in the pit of her stomach used to make every day painful, every morning more terrible than her worst nightmare. Facing the life ahead of her, stretching away without promise of any kind, had been nauseating, and, at the time, death had seemed to be her only release.

Her salvation had been a mixed blessing.

That morning, she'd been woken by the maids, and her mother's screeching voice, the voice she always reserved for those morning hours when forcing her only daughter into the most 'maidenly' clothes money could buy. The small bundle of tomboyish sixteen year old in the bed had just moaned and pulled the covers up further over her head, hoping to keep the cold air of the mansion away from her body.

Her hopes, however, were shattered as the covers were wrenched from her grasp, and her tyrant of a mother stood over her.

"**Up!**" she screeched, clapping her hands almost frightfully close to the girl's face. "You have a big day today!"

_You mean **you** have a big day ... _she thought with a sigh. _I'm just there for you to show off. _

Still, she forced herself to her feet, in order to be smothered with the latest in a long line of too-puffy, too-lacy dresses. At least this one was black and navy blue.

As the maids clamped a corset onto her already-tiny form -- to enhance her chest, they had always said when she managed to splutter the question -- her mother began drilling her with the day's agenda.

"You've already slept in and missed breakfast, but if you hurry, we can make it to the luncheon I have planned for you with that nice, young Duke Hardrege!"

"You know he fancies the Princess Garnet --" she took a moment to gasp for breath as her corset was pulled tighter, "-- right?"

"Nonsense!" was her mother's answer, accompanied by a wave of her hand. "The moment he sees you, he'll have to pick up his jaw off the floor."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, **right**. He'll have one of his slaves do it for him."

Her mother turned a deaf ear to that, and to her protests as the maids finished tying her corset and set about swathing her in the blue-black dress.

"I've had this dress specially made to show off your petite figure, and that hair of yours, since the Duke said he liked it so much! It should also bring out the little bits of blue you have in those wretched eyes of yours."

The teen steeled herself against the barrage of criticism and curling irons that she knew was to come. Sure enough, she felt one of the maids seize one of her long, red locks and gamely attempt to curl it.

Her mother was still talking as though none of this were going on. "Your makeup for today will be far more heavy than you're used to, but you need it to cover up all the oil in your skin, and to make you look like a respectable woman for once, not a filthy roustabout. I've instructed the maids to work heavily on your eye makeup, and to only use black and grey shades, in order to ..."

The girl blocked her mother out, looking blankly ahead of her, then no where at all as the maids plopped her down on the nearest chair and proceeded to attack her closed lids, lashes and all other exposed flesh with what she was certain must be the entire contents of her mother's makeup arsenal. In minutes, the silent women who had dressed her since she was young had transformed her -- she could tell just by the feel. Her skin had lost any natural feel that it had ever possessed, and she felt as made up as the vile dolls her mother insisted she keep. She was certain she must look like a raccoon, what with all the makeup weighing down her lashes.

" ... Sophia! Are you **listening **to me!"

Her eyes snapped open and she looked at the elegant woman before her blankly for a moment. "Oh. Yes."

Her mother sniffed, as the maids worked tirelessly to pull bits of her daughter's long, dark hair back, and away from her face, to cascade in loose curls to midway down her back. "As I was saying ... We have a luncheon scheduled with the Duke at his household, shortly after the both of you can have your first outing. After which, I hope to be invited back to the Duke's for tea, then we'll have just enough time to return home and have you ready for the ball tonight."

"Let me guess. The Duke will be there, too?"

"Shall, Sophia! Shall! How will you **ever** be a woman if you will not learn to speak properly!" She didn't allow her the time to mutter a response. "Now, come. You look presentable enough."

She left her daughter to finish wedging her feet into her heeled shoes, and stumble after her in a most ungainly and undignified canter. Thankfully, she didn't see her daughter waddle after her in her two-inch heels; she was too busy issuing orders to the staff that she would be leaving with her mansion for the better part of the day.

In the carriage (which Sophia made her way to after ducking around her raving mother), the Lord of the house already sat, along with his trusted adviser. Both of them gave approving looks as she hoisted herself in and sat down, allowing one of the servants to shut the door behind her.

"You cleaned up nicely," her father said, as the adviser snickered.

She looked them both over, ignoring the needling statement. Her father was short, rotund, and jovial looking -- indeed, many women absolutely loved that about them. She hadn't missed the steadily younger women that her father had been toting home. Nor had she failed to catch the fact that her mother and father no longer harboured any interest in each other -- indeed, they'd moved to different bedrooms, all the way across the house from each other, so that they could entertain their overnight visitors with minimal encounters with the other.

The adviser, on the other hand, couldn't have attracted a woman if it meant his life. He was painfully thin, with a crooked back and a hook-like nose, reminding Sophia of a carrion eating bird. He always wore thick glasses which magnified his eyes to several times their real size, giving him a permanently surprised air about him. His voice was high and nasal; how her father managed to listen to it day in and out baffled her. His eyes were a dull shade of grey, as was his sickly skin and what was left of the hair on his balding head.

Her mother bustled into the seat beside her, slamming the carriage door herself when the servant could not do it quick enough for her taste, and the jerk that almost sent Sophia sprawling on the floor told her that she was on her way to a whole new kind of nightmare.

---

Kuja opened the door softly. The pickpocket must be asleep ... he'd knocked, and had no response. With the fear he'd instilled in her by now, he knew she wouldn't dare ignore him.

Sure enough, she was in the tub on the other side of the room, her head lolled back against the cushion, her eyes closed and roaming beneath their lids. He felt a smile curve his lips, unbidden.

Her clothes were on the floor in the middle of the room, and Kuja crossed to them and scooped them up under his arm. These threadbare rags could hardly be considered clothes ...

Before he left, he crossed to the closet and opened it, revealing the small collection of pristine, white bathrobes within, and added some warm water to the bath.

The door was silent as it closed behind him.

---

When Sophia had arrived at the Duke's mansion, she was already thoroughly nauseated. Her mother had spent the entire ride regaling her last visit -- aside from the elaborate furnishings, the jewelled clothes, the expensive linens, the immaculately kept rooms, and the seemingly hundreds of people in his service, it was quite obvious that he had his affections (or, at the very least, his lust) focused on Sophia herself. It was enough to make her unsteady on her feet as she forced herself onto the Duke's ground.

Shockingly enough, he strode out to meet them himself, a jovial grin on his admittedly handsome face, his fine cape billowing behind him in the light breeze. He had blue eyes, a light, beautiful blue that reminded her of a summer's sky, his naturally thin hair was a strawberry blond and reached down to his shoulders, while a short, well-trimmed beard and moustache of the same colour surrounded his mouth. He was absolutely gorgeous ...

And yet she found herself repulsed by him, disgusted. And this feeling only increased as she noticed the two servants trailing in his wake, only a few years older than her at most. Both had dark, close-cropped hair, and small, dark eyes. It was obvious that they were terrified of making a mistake in the stiff way that they walked. Seeing them like that ripped her heart out.

He noticed none of the negative emotions she knew must be playing across her face, walking straight to her and taking her hand in his, kissing the back of it gallantly. "Ah, Sophia. It's simply wonderful to see you again!"

"Duke Hardrege," she said, inclining her head. She wanted to pull her hand back, out of his grasp, but she knew her mother wouldn't approve, and she'd face the consequences of that later.

"Come now," he said, with a pleading smile, "call me Serge."

She blinked in surprise. "Er ..."

"Of **course** she will." Her mother's voice was threatening, and Sophia sighed softly, nodding her head.

"Of course, Du-- I mean, Serge."

He smiled and, keeping her hand gently in his -- Sophia shuddered; in their society, even that small gesture would be taken as a sign that the two of them were intimately involved -- led her and her family into his mansion.

Once inside, Sophia knew right away that her mother had not been exaggarating when she spoke of the lavish surroundings the duke enjoyed. The marble floor of the four-story-high entrance hall was a beautiful silver-white, perfectly smooth and absolutely spotless. The sweeping stairs ahead of them were made of the same, while the banister was made of the finest, most beautiful golden brown wood, sculpted and inlaid with precious metals. The heavy door swung shut behind them, made of the same material as the stairs, and just as beautifully crafted.

He smiled and swept the arm that wasn't clutching her hand around the stunning hall. "Welcome to my humble abode."

She was shocked he didn't choke on the word humble, and was even more shocked he wasn't smitten where he stood by some higher power for such obvious blasphemy.

If anyone else felt the same, they said nothing; her mother launched into a tirade of barely-suppressed greed -- about how wonderful his house was, and how marvellous it must be to have so much --, her father was nodding slightly, as his assistant stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. She herself was working diligently to extricate her hand from what was proving to be the Duke's very firm grip.

"Ah, well," Serge said, clearly in response to the latest in the barrage of questions her mother had heaped upon him, "I'm simply glad that you could join me tonight. Especially since you brought this little gem." He smiled at Sophia. "And you all must be hungry -- come, I'll have my servants bring out something sweet for us to munch on. I'm certain we have much to discuss."

As it turned out, there was more to discuss than Sophia had originally imagined.

---

Shortly after they were seated -- Sophia next to the Duke, much to her displeasure -- and an array of sweets and cakes served on a decorative plate, the conversation started.

And, at first, it was tame enough. The discussion started on politics; a subject which Sophia had many opinions on, but was not allowed to speak anything other than polite questions and short answers when she was addressed directly. But soon, the politics of Treno (which were, at the time, almost non-existent, because of a temporary lull in any major problems in the city) were abandoned in the conversation, and less comfortable matters were aroused ... Including the (rather innocent, her mother must have thought) mention that the Duke must be looking to marry soon.

He chuckled, taking the question, as he did most things, in good stride. "Well," he said modestly, "I am starting to turn my attention towards that matter ... And, I suppose, should I find a woman whom I'm attracted to, and who would consider it an honour to take my hand in marriage, then I could settle down."

Sophia ignored that, and innocently licked some powdered sugar from her fingers as daintily as she could. Her mother, however, was glaring daggers at her, clearly expecting her to speak up. She wiped her sticky fingers on her napkin, before gathering her courage, and speaking. "But surely, there must be a woman like that somewhere ... Perhaps you should consider travelling abroad ...?"

He laughed, as if what she had suggested was a hilarious joke. "Ah," he said, when he regained his composure, "but I don't have to travel abroad to find a woman as such." He reached for the hand she was resting on the table, and she avoided that by picking up her glass of what she hoped wasn't an alcoholic drink and almost choking on a most unladylike sip of it.

"You have your eye on someone, then?" Sophia sighed to herself. Her father was sweet, but hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. He couldn't fish a clue out of a bucket.

The Duke disguised the reach for her hand by instead reaching for one of the cakes that the servants had brought fresh from the kitchen to refill their snack plate. "Well, yes. You could say that." He chuckled to himself and took a bite of his cake, chewing and swallowing it in silence before adding onto that. "But ... she's a little, well, I suppose you could say she tends to be a little shy. Maybe a little under her family's thumb. She seems to be a little afraid to get to know me better." He'd tilted his head to look into Sophia's eyes, since she'd been carefully avoiding looking at him. "And I would love," he said, his voice softer and obviously directed at her, "to get to know her better."

Sophia felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, and immediately hated being a redhead ... and not carrying a fan, as her mother usually insisted; had she had the latter, she probably could have covered her now cherry-red cheeks.

Thankfully, her mother cut in so that she wouldn't have to speak. Her mother's voice sounded exactly as flushed as Sophia felt. "Oh, we'd be more than happy to allow the two of you some time alone -- at least, until Sophia must get ready to attend tonight's gala." She let out a tinkling laugh that grated on Sophia's ears.

The fact that her father said nothing was what really got to her. She could remember fuming silently as her parents had left. Every other family in Alexandria would have the common sense not to leave their daughter with **any** young man unattended short of a brother -- how were they to know that he was not a rapist, or harbouring such desires! Why did her family have to be such ... such ...

She never did think of a proper word, since it was at that moment that the Duke returned, and practically swept her off her feet as he guided her out to the stone patio, overlooking the his gardens.

He left her there again, whispering in her ear that he'd find her a glass of water, since she was looking rather flushed. _Hmph. Rather flushed. I wonder why ..._

The garden, though, really had been beautiful. Flowering bushes, fruit-bearing trees, myriads of colours stretching in all directions, almost as far as she could see, between silvery stone walls. There were fountains spewing crystal waters, gazebos and tables everywhere. She almost found herself drooling over all the colours, thrown together in beautiful carelessness.

When he returned, offering her a tall, clear glass of water (and placing a hand on the small of her back as he did so, stepping far closer than she would have liked), she started with surprise, having forgotten all about him. She covered, thankfully, with practised care by taking a polite sip of water.

And so the courting had begun ...

---

The pickpocket awoke with a start, looking blearily around the room. Had she fallen asleep ...? She must have, what with the fact that her bathwater, which had been scalding when she had drawn the bath, was now only lukewarm.

She sat up, rubbing her sore neck as she did so, and surveying the room once more. There was something not quite right about the room ... but her brain was so clogged with sleep that she couldn't quite figure out what it was ...

She's hauled herself out of the bath and stood, dripping, on the tiles before she finally came to terms with the fact that her clothes had mysteriously packed up and moved on. She felt her lips forming the word and her fingers curling into a fist before her brain could register what she was doing. "Kuja ..."


	7. Depression

**-- Final Fantasy IX : Have and Have Not -- Chapter Seven :Depression --**

_---_

_You guys rock. :) (Well, with the exception of a few people whom I won't name who still won't even bother to read my fan fiction ...)  
So. Here's the next chapter, even though it **is** kind of short. There's only so much room in my brain for the guys of Tantalus right now, as I'm working on knitting together Sophia's past with what I have planned for me. (Mwahahahhahahaaa ...) I promise, as soon as I get Sophia's past a little more sorted out, I'll start working on having Marcus recuperate a little more. I mean, the poor guy's not going to be a depressed drunk over my little pickpocket forever!  
As a side note, I'd like to thank Bloodshy Testament for helping me with the whole Ruby mix up (long and embarrassing story -- if you read this chapter before February 5th, 2006, you'll probably know). And I hope your PS2's recovery is swift, my friend!  
In other news, I have some plans for new fan fictions, and I'll put that up on my main page. So be sure to check that out!  
Enjoy! _

_---_

Marcus wasn't doing any better.

Blank had done a good job keeping him away from the alcohol -- namely by confiscating all the alcohol that he had and drinking it himself. But, even though Marcus was no longer hitting the bars, and no longer had a personal supply of drinks to keep him drugged, it was pretty obvious that his condition was declining fast.

And that was what brought about a meeting of Tantalus, with saving their member as the prime directive.

Blank, knowing the most about Marcus, led the discussion. "Something is seriously wrong ..." he said, only minutes into their meeting, a frothy mug of beer clasped in his hands. "I mean, Marcus hasn't even noticed that I replaced all his booze with Apple Juice! I've even stopped putting it in empty beer bottles!"

There was silence around the table for a moment, as if no one had thought such a thing would be possible.

"That's it." Baku slammed a fist down on the table, causing his comrades to dive for their mugs all around. "We're gonna have to go after this girl."

"But **how**!" Cinna's question was met with a rather uncomfortable silence. "I mean, we don't even know who snatched her."

"Or if she was really snatched. I mean, from what I've heard, the guy was pretty good looking."

There were a few glares, but most of the people around the circular table grudgingly agreed.

"Yeah, heard he was quite the looker ..."

"Had some o' the ladies staring as he went by ..."

"I heard some of 'em were going as far as to drool ..."

Blank sighed. "Just don't let Marcus hear you say any of that -- it'll crush him."

"You mean whatever's left of him ..."

Baku, overcome by another temporary rage, slammed his fist once more on the table. Precious beer sloshed onto the table from the newly-refilled pitcher, and the waitress that had just filled it scampered off. "Don't go talkin' like that! We're gonna get to our sources, we'll fill 'em in on what the girl looks like, and we'll find her! Easy!"

Blank shook his head. "It's not gonna be that easy!" he insisted. "You know Marcus -- he never gets discouraged! Not like this! He knows that we're in way over our heads! We can't take this lightly, or we're gonna end up like her!"

Silence.

"You mean ... joining that guy ... in his bed?"

"**No**! I mean taken captive!"

"What's all this about being taken captive and, uuuhh, beds?"

Ruby, clad in the usual lacy dress, heels, and bonnet over her curly pale locks, complete with lace parasol slung casually across her shoulder, approached their table. There was silence for a moment, as many half-drunk minds wondered what to say to her, and she in turn, studied their faces.

"Sayyy ... where's Marcus?"

More silence.

"Still moping," Baku offered, almost reverently.

"Moping?"

Blank nearly groaned aloud. Ruby didn't know!

"Oh, well," Cinna started in a fairly casual tone -- he probably had more alcohol in his system than the others, "there was this pickpocket that he had this huge crush on, but he was playing games with her, and now she's gone off with some other guy."

There was silence. At least until Baku took the opportunity to hit him over the head and hopefully shut up any more outbursts that he might have.

Ruby took a seat and crossed her arms across her chest. "Hmph. I told him that if he kept toying with everyone he met, then he was never gonna find someone willin' to settle down!" She scoffed. "I should have known though, after all the times he turned **me** down ..."

Someone offered a chuckle, but most others were silent, unsure as to whether gently reminding Ruby that **she** had in fact turned Marcus down many times would send her into rage.

"Well." The maiden got to her feet, clapping her hands together, her eyes lighting up with an idea. "I'm going to go see Marcus. I know exactly what'll get him on his feet!"

"Er, don't take him any alcohol."

"No, no, of course not, nothing like that. Besides, I'm not gonna **need** alcohol." With a small smile, a wink, and a giggle, she was gone.

Blank looks were exchanged around the table.

"What have we gotten Marcus into ...?"

---

At the time, Marcus was plowing his way through another beer. Or, so he thought. His mind was so clouded that he conveniently forgot that beer wasn't supposed to be sweet, and that it was supposed to come in a bottle ... and that you were actually supposed to get drunken off of it.

The juice box was clenched in his fist, and he was chewing sullenly on the straw. He was so stupid ... so horribly, inexcusably stupid! Playing games with her ...

Her! He had to stop just calling her Her! Marcus put down the juice box and lent forwards in his chair, cradling his aching forehead in his hands.

What was a name lovely enough for her? He racked his brain, searching for an answer.

In his minds eye, he could see her. Her beautiful dark hair, those piercing eyes, her porcelain skin, her perfect figure hugged lovingly by the clothes she wore. And, for a moment, one perfect, fleeting moment, he felt normal again. The pain that had been clawing inside of him, howling for release, was gone, the pounding in his head blessedly silent, as he just looked at her face. He imagined he could hear her voice ...

And then the door was slammed inwards.

"Oh, Marrrrrcuuuuuuuuuuussss!"

He groaned. All at once, his pain came rushing back, slamming into his heart with stifling agony.

"Marcus, sweetie, are you alright!"

"Ruby ..." he groaned, sitting back in his chair, kneading his closed eyes with his palms.

"Oh, sweetie!" A cloud of lace and too-strong floral perfume was all over him. "I just can't believe you've decided to just give up! Come with me, hun ..."

Her lace-gloved hands were trying to pry his hands from his eyes, and he swatted at her irritably. "Get lost, Ruby."

"And just leave you to wallow in your misery? I don't think so! Not while I'm around!" She stomped her foot angrily as he succeeded in pushing her away. "Come on, Marcus, you have to get over this street girl!" There was a pitiful moan. "Besides! You've got **me**!"

Another moan, this one more pitiful than the last. That was followed by something that sounded vaguely like "Oh ... **great** ..."

Ruby clenched a fist. "You **need** to get up and around, and I'm not taking no for an answer! I'm going to be waiting right outside your door, and you had **better** be out in five minutes! Understand me!"

Yet another moan.

Ruby turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

After a few moments, Marcus got up out of his chair. The juice box fell to the floor, and lay there in the silence that followed. Faintly came the sound of a door opening and closing. And then there was nothing but blessed peace in the empty house.


	8. The Alexandrian Guard

**-- Final Fantasy IX : Have and Have Not -- Chapter Eight : The Alexandrian Guard --**

_---_

_I'm turning out the chapters now!  
Unfortunately, in the near future, I doubt the chapters will come so fast. Tomorrow (February 6th, 2006), I'll be starting my new high school semester, which includesmy Math, English, and French courses.As such, I have the feeling that much of my spare time is going to be spent writing pointless essays instead ofFan Fiction.As well, I'm going to be taking up a sport, in some lame attempt to get myself more fit. (Hooray ...)  
Read and Review, as alwaysplease! And Enjoy! _

_---_

He wasn't there. Not anymore.

Standing there, her hair still wet, wearing only the bath robe that she had found in his bathroom, she surveyed the rest of the appartment. All of the doors were open -- even the one to the almost full-wall cabinet in the kitchenette -- and Kuja was no where to be found.

But ... but he just **had** to be there! Why would he leave her alone in his apartment! Then again, why would he take her to his apartment in the first place? Her head hurt, and she sank into a chair at the polished wooden table.

Why in the name of the Queen would anyone leave an established thief alone in their apartment? Okay, well, maybe she wasn't an established thief, but she'd gotten pretty handy at swiping stuff over the years. And she had a very impressive assortment of pockets in her clothes ... wherever they had gotten to.

What did he think he was doing? Not only was she alone in his apartment, she was practically naked, alone in his apartment!

Oh. Well. When she put it that way ...

Was **that** what he was planning! Silently, she fumed. Did he drag her all the way from Treno with only **sex** on his mind! The pickpocket felt her hands, which had been stagnant on her lap, clench into fists. What a ... what a ... what a typical **guy**!

Was she **ever** going to meet someone who wasn't going to look at her, see an easy way out, and go for it! That's all she ever got! They either saw her as rich or, more recently, a venerable street girl, easy to manipulate. Or, at least, so it seemed.

But there was that one guy ...

The pickpocket shook her head and heaved a heartfelt sigh. Who was she kidding? 'That Guy' was a pickpocket who wouldn't stop stealing what was rightfully ... well, soon-to-be-her wallets. Besides, it was all his fault she was in this mess in the first place! Stupid bastard ... why couldn't he just get lost like she'd advised him at their first meeting!

The door opened. The pickpocket jumped to her feet.

"Hmph. So there was a girl under all that grime."

Kuja was back, with what she dearly hoped were her clothes folded over his arm.

"You might," he said, as he strode past her, "want to tighten your robe."

She scowled at him, noticing the smirk turning up the corners of his mouth, while she hugged the too-big silken robe tighter to her chest. How come she just couldn't take her eyes off him? What kind of hypnotic powers did he have about him that made her chest tighter, her limbs shake, and cause her heart jump to her throat?

"I have here an ample replacement for those rags you were running about in." There was no argument from her -- she had been in dire need of a replacement of clothes. "And, starting tomorrow, you'll report to the Captain of the Guard."

She blinked. "For what?"

"For the training," he told her patiently, turning to look at her after laying her replacement clothes on the table, "required before one joins the Alexandrian Royal Guard."

It took the pickpocket a minute to pick her jaw up off of the floor. Finally, she managed to force out intelligently, "What?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "If you're going to stay here, you may as well make yourself useful."

She stared at him in silence, unable to force any of the questions circling her head through her numb lips. He stared back at her, coolly studying the look of shock on her face. After an additional moment, where his eyes swept her once more, he simply stated, "You should dress," and then turned to leave.

"The **Alexandrian Guard**!" she stammered. "But ... but ... they ..."

Kuja turned to survey her, one eyebrow coyly raised. "Not good enough for you, Princess?"

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks as she flushed angrily. "No, I ... I mean ... have you **seen** what they wear?" As Kuja chuckled, she felt her face heat up, more from embarrassment now than anger. "I mean, it's a stupid choice for a guard force ... their legs are completely open to attack ..." She trailed off and, under Kuja's scrutinizing gaze, left once again for the bathroom, glad for the privacy that the thick door afforded her.

There was just something about his gaze that always made her sweat, made her fingers tremble, and made her heart leap. It happened every time, without fail. It was something that the Duke Hardrege had never managed to pull off ... and probably the main reason she had left her home. One of her worst nightmares had always been to stuck in a life without promise ... and now she realised she had feared not being able to love just as much.

She sank down onto the floor, resting her hot forehead in the palm of her hand. She had gotten herself into this mess ... and now, she feared there might not be a way out.

---

She was left alone with the Duke for what felt like an eternity. Not even hid servants had the audacity to interrupt. Unfortunately.

Most of their time was spent out in the Garden. Which, at least, gave Sophia plenty to focus on while she ignored the Duke.

She was pretty sure that he had spent most of the time talking about ... well, something other than the expensive plants she was looking at. She was pretty sure he cared for nothing except the cost of them. He certainly didn't walk around in that expensive garb and water them ...

"Sophia?"

She quickly disguised the fact that she'd been lost in her own thoughts by stroking the ivory coloured petals of the nearest flower and smiling to herself. "This is a beautiful plant," she said.

"Pales in comparison to you."

Sophia, thankful that she was turned away from him, rolled her eyes skywards. This guy was just insufferable! Secretly, she prayed that her parents were sending the carriage back for her just then.

"I hope you'll forgive me if I am frank, Sophia ... but I must speak my mind. I feel as though you are ... attempting to push me away."

"With all due respect ... this is all happening a little fast. I mean --" she cut off as she felt his hand on her shoulder, and he spun her around, so that they were face to face. And then their lips were together.

---

Sophia, from her position on the bathroom floor, shuddered with the mere memory. The duke had always disgusted her ... but that had been the final straw.

When she'd left, not too long after, she'd been escorted right away to her room, where she'd been stripped of her dress by the maids and ushered into a hot bath. Had she not objected, she would have, undoubtedly, followed her and scrubbed her down themselves. She was given a half hour, and told that, if she wasn't in her room by then, they'd break down the door and drag her out of the tub.

She'd packed up some meager belongings and left long before that.

And she hadn't been back since.

Oh, sure, there had been a search at first. It had lasted a few days, and then, she assumed, her parents had decided that she was more trouble than she had been worth anyways, and had gone back to their quiet, spoiled lifestyle.

But Sophia didn't miss it. She'd taken to the street, learned to fend for herself ... and now she was here. Trapped in what she had now started to see was nothing more than a joke for Kuja's own amusement.

How had she ever fallen in love with him!

She paused in the act of pulling the shirt Kuja had left over her head. Had ... she just admitted that? Was she ... really in love with Kuja?

That just wasn't possible! Was it ...? No, no it wasn't. It couldn't be! She'd known him for a few hours! **And** he'd been nothing but short with her! Besides, here he was, so ready to get rid of her, by sending her off to the Alexandrian Guard!

Unless ... he really thought that she was cut out for combat. She'd protected herself on the street for years ... Maybe she really was ready to protect other people ... maybe even people as important as the Queen. Did he really see so much potential in her? The thought made her smile as she straightened the plain, white shirt Kuja had provided across her stomach. Those years out on the street had made her lean, and the shirt hugged her petite form wonderfully. So did the black pants that he'd brought ... she couldn't help but wonder if he'd taken a peek at her when he'd come to take her old clothes ...

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Her mother had always despised the fact that it was so painfully straight. Now, as she studied herself in the mirror, she smiled. The way her hair framed her elfin features, falling down to her shoulders ... did she really look as boyish as her mother had always said? More importantly ... did Kuja think she was too boyish?

No! Damnit! She had to stop thinking like that! It wasn't love! She wouldn't let it be love! She was independent, and she was planning to stay that way! And that was final!

Still, she couldn't help but take an extra moment and straighten her shirt and the front of her pants before she left the safety of the bathroom.

---

Her reception was ... less than warm.

Oh, sure, Captain of the Guard had been nice enough. Kuja had whispered to her as they had rode the elevator up that she was not to question him about his post -- apparently, he was just filling in, as the real Captain of the Guard was off chasing the Princess through who knows where. And, since she had brought up nothing to remind him of his only temporary status, he had seemed all-too-ready to accept her into the ranks of Alexandrian Guard.

The current members of the guard however, seemed to have far less hospitality than their captain.

Apparently, word had gotten out of her stay the night before in Kuja appartment -- although she had only occupied a very drafty spot on the couch -- and that seemed to win her a lot of enemies, for reasons she couldn't quite fathom. Unless, of course, it was because they all secretly wanted Kuja. What right-thinking woman wouldn't? Of course, that would make them jealous ... and of her! Now, as she lay on her bunk, thinking back on the events of the morning, the thought was enough to make her laugh.

After meeting the captain of the guard, she'd said a quick goodbye to Kuja (who, she'd noticed, had been wearing that same amused expression that he had worn when they'd first met), and then followed the Captain around in a brief tour of what he called the "darker side" of the Alexandrian Castle. Indeed, he was right -- in the many servants passages and disused rooms the lighting was either dim or virtually non-existent. And there was dust everywhere. Several times her sneezes drowned out what the captain was trying to say, and she had to ask him to repeat himself. She learned very quickly that this was something he didn't enjoy doing too much.

After trekking down countless passages -- she certainly hoped she hadn't been expected to memorize the passages, where they led, and which was the fastest to get to a certain sector of the castle (or, for that matter, where the different Sectors actually were) -- the Captain took her to a more dimly-lit passage in one of the castle wings. Once there, he led her down the hall to the furthest, saddest looking door, and rapped smartly on it.

The door had swung open, and a girl who couldn't be much older than her, with dark brown hair and similar dark eyes blinked at them. "Captain," she said, with a nod just short bow. Sophia's eyes swept her. She was certainly fit -- her rather skimpy clothes showed off her tanned figure quite well. Her shining hair, curling gently to midway down her back, as well as what appeared to be freshly applied eyeliner and mascara spoke of a few hours' free time. Sophia couldn't help but wonder if this was someone who cared far more for her looks than her duties.

The Captain smiled. "Eve. I have a new recruit for your squad." Sophia didn't miss the distaste clearly displayed across Eve's face. "I'm going to need you to show Sophia the ropes, get her suited up properly, and the like. Take her under your wing until she knows her way around -- I don't want her earning the displeasure of the queen."

Eve had agreed, and allowed her into the crowded bunk room. Most of the squad, from what Sophia had seen, was either still asleep, or showering in the adjoined bathroom -- which, to her horrible distaste, appeared to be communal. Those who were otherwise unoccupied had been all over her.

"What's your name?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Where are you from?"

"Who in the name of the Queen recruited **you**?"

She hadn't missed the distaste in their voices and had set them straight soon enough, with a small arsenal of sarcasm, barely concealed insults and subtle threats (on what she would do to them if they didn't stop looking at her hair that way and get that eyeliner away from her face). What had really seemed to work, though, was the answer to the last question -- that it had been Kuja himself. That seemed to spook them like nothing else she had said had, and the girls had quickly dispersed, leaving Eve to tell her where her bunk was and at what time that night she was expected to be showered and ready to go, so that she could get fitted for her armour before their shift started.

Sophia suddenly realised how heavy her eyes were. From her space on the top bunk, the sounds of the girls below -- who were talking in unnaturally hushed voices, telling her that she was most likely the topic of the day -- sounded distant to her ears. She hadn't gotten much sleep last night ... and she wasn't expected to be ready for five hours, according to the clock on the wall. Rolling over, and burying herself in the white cotton sheets, she was asleep within minutes.


	9. Planning

**-- Final Fantasy IX : Have and Have Not -- Chapter Nine : Planning --**

_---_

_Well, here y'all go! Next chapter:) I have another chapter in the works, but since I have math that I really should be doing, I'll have to get on that some other night. Well ... Since I really don't have too much to say (other than Read and Review, please!), I guess I'll just let you go right to the chapter!_

_---_

Nestled comfortably within the bar, the men of Tantalus were polishing up their plan.

It was simple, that was for sure. But, then again, the plans that they managed to carry out usually were. None of the fake-play sneaking-into-the-castle stuff that they had done before. At least, not yet. At the moment, they were too busy priding themselves on the fact that they had come up with a plan good enough to figure out where Marcus' girl was.

Truth be told, it was nothing too phenomenal, and certainly not good enough to merit a celebration of the epic proportions that they were indulging in.

The plan was simple almost to a fault. Painstakingly, they had mapped out the city (on a napkin) and had then divided it into sections, assigning a section to each man. Over the next few days, they'd patrol their sectors, and they'd either come up with a sighting of the girl, or they'd see her themselves. Easy as that.

Unfortunately, it had never crossed the men's minds that she might not be out in the city. In fact, none of them ever paused to think that she might not be in the city at all. And now, in their fit of drunken merriment, it was unlikely that any of them would.

---

Marcus hated the theatre. It was just too ... too theatre-y. He sighed, and looked at his watch. Less than five minutes had passed since the start of the play ... but even that was too long to spend in the stuffy building. Especially when the crazy woman who dragged you out of your home while you were pining over the woman you really wanted and dragged you to the stupid play in the first place was practically sitting in your lap. Marcus had already scooted over so far in an attempt to get away from her that, if he moved any further, he'd fall into the aisle.

Ruby sighed contentedly, her head against his shoulder, obviously mistaking his sigh for one of contentment. "I know. I **love** this play, too. And I **love** being with you."

Marcus grimaced. "Uh huh."

She sighed softly again, scooting even closer (were that possible), and continued to watch the stage.

He stole another glance at his watch. Another minute had elapsed. _Only ... what was it? An hour and fifty-four minutes to go?_ He suppressed a huff of annoyance, as well as the sudden urge to throw Ruby off of him and make a run for the door. He'd find that pickpocket, and he'd take her in his arms, and he'd tell her that he loved her. And that would be that. If he could find her. And if he could stop tripping over his tongue whenever he tried to talk to her. And if she wouldn't punch him in the stomach for taking her in his arms (she was a fiery little thing, she'd proven that). And if he could get Ruby off of him in the first place so that he could make the break for the door. Knowing her, she'd probably hang onto his ankles and make him drag her.

Ruby. She was still leaning against him, her lace-gloved hand almost dangerously placed on his thigh. Her pale curls were in his face, making his chin itch. It was already hot and stuffy in the building, and the fact that Ruby was all over him wasn't helping much; his clothing, he was sure, was beginning to stick to him. Besides all that, she was crushing the arm that he refused to put around her.

Trying to amuse himself, Marcus directed his gaze at the stage. Colourful figures were skipping around, proclaiming something about some street girl. _Street Girl_. Those words tore open Marcus' heart, and he had to look away. The carpet was a beautiful, deep red. Her hair had that colour in it, when the light from the setting sun had hit it.

"Ruby. I'll be right back, okay?"

"Why's that, hunnie?"

"Bathroom break."

Before she could say anything more, Marcus was on his feet and was heading swiftly to the door. Just outside, he heaved a grateful sigh of relief. For one, the lobby of the theatre was less stuffy than the rooms it led on to. For another, he was away from Ruby's smothering presence. Finally.

True to his word, he headed to the bathroom. What? He hadn't lied when he'd said he needed a bathroom break. It was just going to take longer than Ruby probably assumed it would. Say ... an hour and fifty-four minutes? No, best make it two hours. Maybe two and a half hours. Just in case of an encore.

The tiling in the bathroom was as clear a blue as her eyes had been ...

Even the **bathroom** reminded him of her!

Something was definitely wrong with him.

---

"Okayyyyy ..." Baku slurred, stabbing a finger against their napkin. "Ssso ... we'll start this tomorrah ... okah?" Murmured agreement ran around the table. "Righ' ... okay ... heh ... we're gonna hafta keep our eyes peeled ... an' ... an' ..." His 'inspirational' speech quickly deteriorated and he settled for just gazing down at his empty tankard of beer forlornly.

Blank and Cinna, for once the sober ones in the group, exchanged worried looks.

"Go home and get some rest," Blank said with a sigh, resting his forehead in his palm. "You're gonna need sleep to deal with that hangover of yours tomorrow."

"Yeah ... yeah ... goo ... goooooood idea."

One by one, the members of Tantalus all stood and swaggered away, sure to be bedridden in the morning.

Cinna sighed. "Looks like it's up to us, then."

"What's up to you guys?"

Cinna's eyes grew wide. Blank rubbed his eyes, sure of his drunken hallucination.

Marcus took a seat and reached for the near-empty beer pitcher. "Oh, god, I need a drink."

Near panic, Blank swiped it away from him. "What the hell are you doing here!"

Marcus gave a weary sigh. "Can I have a beer first?"

"No!"

"**Fine**." Still sounding tired, Marcus quickly outlined the day's events. "Ruby came, dragged me out of my room, for some reason I've become hang-over resistant, so the stuff I've been drinking for days hasn't affected me, and now I've snuck out of the play that Ruby told me would help me and I'm here, and all I want is a **beer**!"

"Wait a minute." Cinna help up a hand. "You **left** Ruby at this play!"

"Yeah ... why?"

"Maaaaan ..." Cinna whistled. "If you were depressed before, you ain't seen nothin' yet!"

"Cinna! Shut--"

Cinna ignored Blank. "Ruby's gonna make your like a livin' **hell**!" He dragged out the 'l's until Marcus wondered if his brain had frozen from alcohol withdrawal.

"**Cinna**!" Blank's voice was venomous. "Will you just shut up!"

"Can I have a drink** now**?"

"**No**, Marcus! What are you **doing** here!"

"I just told you! I--"

"No, no." Blank sighed. "I just mean, what happened? You're almost back to normal! You haven't been like this since you lost that pickpocket girl!"

Marcus heaved a sigh, and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, well. Just sitting around wasn't getting me any closer to her. I guess some part of my mind's always known, and it's just surfaced: if I wanna see her again, I'm gonna have to go look for her myself. Besides ... I just have this feeling that I know where to go."

"Not to mention," Cinna added, "sitting around made you an easy target for Ruby."

He was ignored.

"So, where are you going?" Blank looked worried.

"Alexandria. There's just this feeling nagging at me ... I just know, somehow, that that's where she is. Somewhere around the castle."

"But Marcus! That might mean --"

"I **know** what it might mean!" Marcus' voice was hard. "And if she's being held there, I'll break her out. I don't care what it takes, alright guys? I've spent too long being depressed over the fact that I lost her! I **need** to get her back -- I can't live without it! I'm actually going to do something with my life!" The raw emotion in his voice silenced his companions, as they looked on helplessly. Marcus stood to go. "I'm leaving tomorrow, guys. I can't wait any longer."

And then he was gone, leaving only shocked silence in his wake.

---

"I can't **believe** him!"

Ruby stood, hands on hips, in the lobby of the theatre. Her usually pretty face was marred with a scowl that would wilt even the hardiest flower, and send crowds scurrying before her. She gathered fist-fulls of lacy skirt in her hands. Why on earth had he left! It wasn't that girl he'd been lamenting over ... Oh, that must be it! That lass who'd rejected him! That's where he'd disappeared to! Why did he have to go courting her, when he had **her**, Scarlet!

Who **was** this girl? Oh, when she got her hands on this girl ... she'd be sorry that she'd ever even **seen** Marcus!

She stormed out of the theatre. She had every right. Marcus was hers, after all.


	10. Two Thieves, One Town

**-- Final Fantasy IX : Have and Have Not -- Chapter Ten : Two Thieves, One Town --**

_---_

_Well, here you all go. Chapter Ten. Marcus getting closer and closer to finding Sophia. Eee, so excited! Read and Review as always, please!_

_---_

"Hey. Sleepyhead. Time to wake up."

Sophia could feel someone poking her shoulder, and she almost made to swat them away. Why were the maids **constantly** waking her! It was probably some ungodly hour ...

"You've gotta start getting ready for our shift!"

Oh. Right. Alexandrian Guard. Kuja. The room full ofidiots she was supposed to work with. Oh, and right, they were jealous of her. Hah. Funny stuff.

She rolled over and blinked sleepily into the yellow light. Her wake-up call was blond, mascara-eyed, blemish-free, and perfectly manicured. But she **did** look concerned ... maybe even a little interested in the new recruits well being.

"Eve's gonna be bugged if you're not ready in time ..."

"Right. Thanks." She knew she sounded sleepy, and not at all grateful. She'd work on that in a minute. Right now, he head rang with sleep, and the dreams that had plagued her. Sophia, aware that she was being watched with undisguised contempt from most of the room inhabitants, slouched to the shower room.

Someone must have been looking out for her -- the circular shower room was deserted. The off-white tiles under her feet and covering the walls, she noted, were wet, as though the room had recently been used. Now, however, only she was present in there. Her wake up call lurked in the doorway.

It was because of the blond in the door that she walked around to the other side of the pillar in the centre of the room, to where she couldn't be seen from the other room. Only then did she shed her clothes ... and then pause, searching for somewhere to put them where they wouldn't get wet.

"Along the side." Her Wake-Up Call again. "There's a shelf just a little above your head ... You can put your clothes on there. They might get a little damp ... but you're going to have to change into your armour in a little while."

A groan. Sophia started the shower, her clothes safely out of the way, and move under the jet of hot water. "Does the Guard still wear that idiotic armour --"

"Heh, unless you ask for something to cover your legs.

"Great."

Wake-Up Call laughed, hearing the sarcasm in her voice. "Don't worry. The outfitter'll give you something, no problem. He's a cool guy. If you give him long enough, he'll probably make you some full-body armour."

"I'm gonna need it."

"No, you won't. Trust me, our squad doesn't see too much action."

Sophia chuckled. "Gee. That's great." _So much for Kuja's getting me assigned to the Guard being a compliment to my abilities ... _She sighed to herself, shut off the shower, and glanced around for a towel.

"Here."

She started with surprise as Wake-Up Call appeared at her shoulder, holding out a yellow towel. Sophia swiped it and wrapped it around herself quickly, feeling her face heat up. "Thanks."

Wake-Up call sighed. "I'm Riss." She offered her hand, and Sophia warily shook it. "Uhm ..." She retreated to the other side of the shower, allowing this new found friend to dry herself. "Is it true that Kuja brought you here?"

Sophia shivered. Despite the fact that steam from the shower still lingered, clouding her vision, it was cold in the small circular room. Besides that, a thought had just hit her. Were all these girls interested in Kuja? And, if they were, what right minded man would choose her over them! It put a damper on her lukewarm mood. "Yes. Kuja dragged me here."

Apparently oblivious to the bitter tone that had practically been spat at her, Riss emitted an envious sigh and lent against the tiled wall. "Oh, you're **so** lucky! I mean, to have seen him up close ... to actually **talk** to him!"

A snort. "I'd hardly call it talking."

"Well, whatever. Still, you got to spend time with him!"

"Too much time, if you ask me."

"Where did you come from?"

"Treno."

Riss inhaled sharply. "**Really**! But it takes **hours** to get from here to there!" she moaned enviously. "Especially if you travelled over land! Did he take you on his Dragon!"

"He has a Dragon?"

"Yes! It's pure white, and ohhhhh ..." She sighed. "I've only ever seen it a few times ... He arrives back at the castle on it occasionally, but I have no idea where it goes after that." Her voice lost the dreamy quality that had reverberated through it, and she looked quizzically at the pickpocket, who had by then acquired a sufficient amount of clothes to feel comfortable exposing herself to the rest of the squad. "So, just how long ago did you hook up with Kuja."

"I've been at the castle since yesterday. And we didn't 'hook up'. He practically dragged me." Sophia's head disappeared inside the towel, as she started to attack the limp mass that was her hair.

"Since yesterday? But, where did you stay?"

Sophia's voice was muffled. "Kuja's quarters." Silence. That was new. She lifted a corner of the towel, just to ensure that something dramatic hadn't happened while she'd been visually impaired.

Riss was gawking openly at her, as if she'd been struck over the head and hadn't quite comprehended it just yet. "You spent ... the night ... in **Kuja's room**!"

All too aware that the entire squadron had fallen silent. "Rooms," she said sharply. "He has more than one." She dropped the wet towel to her shoulders, and fell silent herself. All the gazes in the room were directed at her. The girls looked ... scared. There was even a glimmer of something resembling ... respect. Wow. That was new. Sophia smirked. "And yes. I stayed the night with him." _No!_ Her brain screamed at her, _You most certainly did **not** spend the night with him! You spent the night being **scared** of him! And freezing half to death on his couch!_

She had to admit, it wasn't like her to twist things to her advantage like that. Sure, she'd stolen some things to support herself, but she wasn't the type to just extort people like that! That was more something, well, that Kuja would do.

Had he really rubbed off on her that much?

Or was she just trying to gain respect so that Kuja would see her for more than just the helpless pickpocket he'd recruited?

Sophia climbed back to her bunk, just as whispers erupted around the room, sounding like a million tiny insects had just been unleashed. She ran her fingers through her bangs, attempting to untangle them. If she was on the road to gaining Kuja's attention ... why did she feel so rotten?

She sighed. Maybe it was just her disappointment about not actually spending the night technically **with** Kuja. That was probably it. The last time she'd spent the night with someone was ... never. Now **that** was depressing.

---

The Castle Armourer was plump and sarcastic and Sophia liked him instantly.

"**You're** the new recruit?" he'd said to her. "Didn't know they made 'em so scrawny!"

"I'm all muscle," she'd said back, smirking as she noticed the teasing tone in the man's voice.

His laugh was uproarous as he'd herded her further into his workshop, and the fitting had begun.

As she stood, the Armourer had bent and twisted with surprising speed as he took in her measurements. In fact, he was so speedy, that she barely had time to react when his face was almost dangerously close to her chest.

"Settle down, lass," he'd said. "Ye've got somethin' to be proud of there -- stop hiding it's my advice." He'd added that she'd have to give him a minute, as he wasn't sure he even had armour small enough to fit her, and had disappeared into the depths of the shop.

The walls were old and dark, the stone blackened from years of smoke and soot from the metal ovens. The ceiling was low, the air perpetually thick and hot, the flames from the ovens casting flickering shadows in the many dark corners. For some reason, she felt more at home here than she had anywhere in a long while.

As the Armourer returned, she turned a criticising gaze on him, much the way he had her when Eve had dropped her at the door. He wore plain, brown pants, burned in many places (some of those burnsshe suspected had been very painful), and a white sleeveless shirt which stretched almost to its limits across his expansive gut. He wore his deep brown hair shorn in the fashion of a soldier. His eyes were small, dark and calculating, his skin tanned, in some places blackened by soot. Shiny burns could be seen on his hands and arms.

"Well, I've got somethin' for ya ... But ye're gonna have to get it fitted. It was the scrawniest size I have, and I've still gotta take it in some more. So just stand still."

Already feeling uncomfortable enough in the tiny shirt and shorts she had been forced into -- "It's what everyone has to wear under their armour. Trust me, We've seen far better than you in it." -- it was no picnic standing still while the armour was placed onto her, then patiently heated, melted and hammered back into shape until it fit her better. The pauldron had to be taken off of her, broken, and then reassembled before it would fit her properly.

"Hmph." The tone used was trying hard not to be impressed. "Most girls that I fit squirm and whimper, sayin' that I'll burn 'em."

"I'm not most girls." Sophia paused, then added, "You **should** burn them."

He chuckled. "Well, pauldron's done."

"Er ... Do you have something to cover my legs? At least a little past the knees?"

He regarded her for an additional minute. "Expectin' some trouble out there, are ya?"

"I used to live out on the street; I guess it's told me to expect the worst."

For that, she got a gruff smile before the Armourer turned and, gesturing for her to follow, strode into the depths of his workshop once more. "So. What were ya?" he called over his shoulder. "Moocher? Beggar?"

"Pickpocket. Spy, sort of. I got pretty good at sneaking around."

"Hm. You're gonna find the Guard a bit tame, then."

"It wasn't my idea to join."

"Who's, then?" He stopped, and she had to pull up short to avoid running into his back. "Hmmm ... leg armour ..." He started rooting through some piles.

"It was ..." she paused. If the name had the same effect here than it had with the girls in her Squad ... well, she didn't want that kind of respect here. This strange, portly gentleman was probably the closest thing to a friend she had ... "It was ... Kuja."

He shrugged the name off. "Not many get recruited by The Man himself anymore. Musta done something out of the ordinary to catch his eye."

She chuckled. "You could say that."

"Hold still, sweetheart." She felt a sudden pressure on her legs as her started to buckle the armour into place; she had to lock her knees and clench her jaw in order to keep from falling down. "Well. They're a little too big for you, and they come up a little too high on your thigh ... other than that, how are you doing?"

"It's ... heavy. And the joints feel kind of weird ..."

"Well, they're not placed right because the armour's meant for someone taller. But if you'll come back tomorrow, I'll get your measurements."

---

Eve simply radiated jealousy.

Sophia had to admit, her ego was taking quite the stoking. The contempt flaring in her companion's eyes was lovely. She'd looked that way ever since Sophia had stepped out of the smithy rooms -- since she'd looked her up and down and realised how flattering the armour really was to her companion's petite form. Sophia had to admit, it did nothing for Eve herself.

Before she'd left the Armourer, she'd begged some heavy leather boots off of him, that came up to near her knees, as well as some metal knee-guards. It wasn't as good as the armour she'd (hopefully) soon receive, but it was a start. And it'd keep her lower legs safe, just in case of trouble.

Now, as she tried not to look bored as they paced slowly through the halls (in Sector 4, coincidentally very close to Kuja's quarters), she couldn't stop her mind from wandering. She knew she was supposed to be looking for something out of the ordinary ... but honestly, there was nothing even remotely suspicious, unless you counted the way Eve kept glaring at her. Sophia wasn't sure whether she liked the fact that Eve was carrying a sword, and that she wasn't allowed to. Especially not with the looks she was giving her ...

Then again, Kuja wasn't too far off. If Eve tried anything, she'd always have an excuse to go and see him ...

But would he think that she was weak if she did that?

She shook her head slightly. She was stupid for thinking that. Eve wouldn't try anything. At least ... not out in the open. Anyone could walk by while they were in the hall. She'd wait until they were somewhere secluded.

Maybe she just had an overactive imagination.

"Don't shake your head around like that!" Eve snapped at her. "You're supposed to be keeping watch!"

"I can't see anything if I've got hair in my eyes."

"If you didn't need to look like such a boy you could tie your hair back like the rest of us and you wouldn't have a problem!"

"Tch. Better not let Kuja hear you. He's got longer hair than you do."

Eve flushed and said nothing more.

Maybe there were some advantages to her overactive imagination. She was never at a loss for a comeback. That was a talent. Or ... maybe it was just annoying ... Would Kuja find it annoying?

_No! No, shut up! Stop thinking like that! If you don't get Kuja out of your mind, you're going to end up like Eve! _

Well, if she did end up like Eve, maybe Kuja would take more of a fancy to her.

_That's it. You're hopeless. _

She sighed. She probably was. Oh well ... only about six more hours of aimlessly pacing the same hallway. That was something to look forwards to.

---

When Marcus arrived at the Alexandrian castle, he was, as always, surprised by it's grandeur. And the number of guards protecting it. Groups of two or more, positioned in niches along the walls, or patrolling at random -- he knew, for he'd tried to map it all out before. There was one way in ...

But the stairway, if he remembered properly, led to the Queen's room. And that was one place even he wasn't bold enough to go. Not without a source on the inside, first.

He chose a seat on a nearby bench, and glanced around absently. He didn't expect to just see her out on the streets ... But, still, a man could hope, couldn't he? The only people around were stuffy nobles, heads held high, backs straight. Not one pickpocket in the bunch. And certainly no one like her. Marcus felt a sigh escape him. Everyone in the crowd around him was either dyed dark brown or blond, wearing frilly clothes, carrying canes, waving their capes. (Although, the latter was admittedly stylish ... Marcus made a mental note to acquire a cape. Hey, it might impress his Pickpocket, when he found her. He might as well make a good impression. Besides, it'd make his rescue of her far more dramatic.)

His gaze was drawn back towards the castle. If she really was in there ... where would she be held? He hated to admit it ... but he'd never seen any prison cells in the castle. If she was being held there, against her will, he'd have no idea where to look for her! And with all the guards crawling all over the place, there was no way he could afford to make a mistake! But he just **had** to save her!

Marcus forced himself to take a deep breath and began to calm down. All he needed was a source inside the castle, and he'd always been the best at finding someone to help Tantalus out. Tantalus had a reputation, and people were quick to help them ... as long as they weren't the kind that would rather get them caught. He sighed. Around the Alexandrian Castle, there were bound to be more of the latter. He was going to have to watch his step.

Speaking of his step ... there was a guard eyeing him from beside the castle door, so he'd better take some more of them. Hauling himself to his feet, he turned his back to the magnificent castle, and headed towards the business district.

As he walked, he mulled over what he knew. Sure, she'd been taken captive. But did that necessarily mean that she was being held as a prisoner? Well ... no. One alternative was one he didn't even want to think about. But there was another chance ... If she'd been working as a thief out of necessity, instead of a love of the craft, then she'd probably have taken any way out. Including working at the castle. Or ... for that guy ... He winced. No, he couldn't think like that! Best keep it positive ...

When he found her. What would he do? After breaking her out, they'd probably have to run like hell to get away from the guards (and whatever else they might have in there that they could send after them). He'd have to remember to get himself some new daggers, or maybe a sword, something that shone nicely in the light, just in case he had to defend her. Once they were out of the castle ...

His imagination ran away with him. Once they were out of the castle, once they were safely nestled away, out of the guard's grasp, she'd probably be exhausted from the run. He could take her up in his arms, she'd lay her head against his chest, and just rest. He'd have to say something heroic. Something like "I just had to come save you, my love. I can't live without you." Would she like something that mushy? Would she just push him off if he said something like that? Maybe he'd have to lead her around the city a bit first, to tire her out. He'd say that he was just trying to lose the guard, though, of course.

His travels led him to the inn, and he smiled as he looked upon the elegant stone building. What a coincidence ... he had just been wondering where he'd take her after they broke out. With another smile to himself, he headed inside.


	11. Red Wine With Dinner

**-- Final Fantasy IX : Have and Have Not -- Chapter Eleven : Red Wine With Dinner --**

**---**

_I know, I know! This chapter took me an eternity! And I'm sorry!But not only did we just start studying Romeo and Juliet in English, but I've had to worry about an Independent Study Unit (among other things) for my Drama Class, and irregular French verbs. Ick. Not fun at all. So publishing this chapter (which I've honestly had done for about a week and a half, if not two) kinda escaped my Things To Do list.  
But, never fear, for Chapter Eleven of Have and Have Not has finally arrived! (Without much fanfare, I'm afraid.) So, with no further ado, on with the story!_

_---_

The weeks progressed in a horribly predictable manner, but at least it gave her time to think.

Sophia accompanied Eve on patrols for weeks, until she knew her way around the castle well enough to find her way around on her own without getting lost too many times. Finally, she was allowed to do single patrols (which were horribly boring) and patrols with Riss (which were better, but full of overheard gossip that made Sophia wish she were elsewhere).

On one of the nights where she patrolled with the latter, she did hear one interesting thing. Apparently, Kuja was interested in her progress -- and he wasn't the only one, she was assured, there were **plenty** of fine looking higher-ups interested in her --, and interested enough to have someone (Riss hadn't been able to find out who) spying on her movements, and then reporting what she did. From what Riss said, she had been the last to find out.

Which was probably why, when she returned to her room, she was the most surprised to find an oblong, flat white box waiting for her on her bunk.

Riss practically attacked her the moment she walked in the door. All the girls had already been in the room for almost half an hour already, gawking at the box, glaring at the letter on top, addressed to Sophia in elegant, but still masculine script. It was so obviously from a man, they insisted.

Sophia, having carefully stowed her new leg armour (which had taken much longer to make than the armourer had originally suspected) in their armour closet, had no idea what Riss was talking about when she started gasping that she "had to open it".

"There, on your bunk!" The package and the letter were both delivered to her waiting arms, and she was free to stare at them while at least ten people tried to explain.

"Someone left it--"

"It was here when we came in--"

"Just **open** the damned thing already!"

Sophia, in a bit of a daze, fumbled with the top on the box. Her hands were trembling with adrenaline and nerves. No one had ever sent anything to her before -- no one outside of her family ...

A collective gasp, followed quickly by a fair amount of envious sighs, ran around the room. Nestled snugly within the box, folded neatly so that the rich, red-wine coloured fabric lay in elegant curves, was the most beautiful dress Sophia had ever seen. Lifting it out of the box to admire it, she drew in a gasp. The dress fell from a halter top with a plunging neckline, falling in a simple fashion to the floor. "It's ... it's beautiful. But ... why ...?"

The letter that had come with it was forced towards her again, and she carefully draped the dress over one arm so that she could read it. Carefully, with one of her newly manicured nails -- Riss had insisted one day in between shower and shift, and Sophia had no excuse against it -- she slit open the wax seal on the envelope and carefully slid the letter out.

_To my Pickpocket,_ the letter said in the same elegant script as on the outside of the envelope. _I trust you've discovered the dress I sent by now, and you're wondering as to the catch. Tonight, at seven, meet me in my chambers -- I'm sure you haven't forgotten where they are, since you take the time to walk by them nearly every night. Make sure you wear the dress; I sent it for a reason. And I want to see the girl that we found once under all that dirt._

The note was signed with a flourish of black ink. _Kuja_.

---

Marcus was following someone. It felt good to be back in his old routine; roaming the streets, following people ... pocketing a couple wallets (which he'd definitely have to look through later; they both felt fat with family portraits and other potentially embarrassing personal items. Oh, and money, of course.).

He could see the girl ahead of him, her blond hair shining in the light as she threaded her way through the crowd ahead of him. Marcus was careful to follow her at a safe distance; he'd have to bide his time, wait until she got close enough to his intended destination before he showed himself.

He'd caught sight of the girl just as she'd left the castle, calling over her shoulder to a slight figure who stood just inside the front gate. The figure had been wearing a white shirt, black pants ... she'd had a nice figure, Marcus remembered noting, his eyes absently sweeping her. And then she'd turned her head, laughing, as she started back towards the castle, and the sun had glinted off of it ... revealing a deep, blood red shine. He'd leaped to his feet, taken a step towards the castle, stopped himself. He forced air into his lungs, forcing his wild thoughts to slow. He couldn't just go waltzing into the castle -- that wasn't how it worked. He'd be stopped at the gate, and he'd never get through -- she'd just disappear inside and he'd loose her again!

The thought had crept silently to the forefront of his thoughts; no light bulb flicked on, there was no sudden light of discovery. Marcus just knew suddenly what he'd do. He may not be allowed to follow the Pickpocket into the castle ... but her friend was headed out into the city. There was no punishment for running into someone in the streets ...

The curly blond head was nearing his target destination. Marcus stepped up his pace, carefully winding his way towards the right ... and then cutting sharply towards her through the mass of bodies around them, purposely jostling her hard enough to set her off balance.

He caught her, of course, grabbing her elbow with the fluid ease of one who'd been expecting it. She didn't notice, though ... not when he stepped closer to her, already talking. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I'm such a clumsy idiot! I'm always in the way ..." He had been looking down, being the object of polite apology ... but now he looked up, and gave a blink of surprise. It was a carefully rehearsed look that he'd practised for years -- the look of pleased shock that usually occurred when one met a pretty lady.

"Oh, no ... it's all right ..." she trailed off, gazing back at him. She made no move to pull her arm out of his grasp.

Marcus gave her a small smile. "No, it really isn't. Here, let me buy you a drink ..."

Victory. She'd agreed readily, insisting that she probably just needed a nice cold beer, and allowed him to lead her to the nearby bar, his arm sliding easily around her shoulder to guide her.

Inside the bar was cozy. The room had a moderately low ceiling, lit by golden glowing lamps, and the occasional candle. The tables were made of honey-coloured, polished wood, the floor of the same, the walls a gentle yellow. Conversation was hushed, a low and comforting buzz. The air was pleasantly warm, the drinks pleasantly cold. The bar where they sat down was made of highly polished marble, and was being tended by a rather large man in an expensive looking suit.

Their orders were placed with only minimal glaring, and Marcus turned back to the girl. "Again, I really am sorry. Some days I'm just such a klutz ... it gets me into trouble all the time."

"And again, don't worry about it." She flashed him a smile.

He started to return it, a small grin lighting up his face. "It sure didn't get me into trouble today, though ..."

A blush crept across the woman's face, and she turned away slightly.

"My name's Marcus, by the way," he said, reaching for the tall glass of beer that had been set before him.

The reply came right away. "I'm Riss."

---

Sophia was having some difficulty keeping herself contained.

Since Riss had left (she said she couldn't take the tension in their room anymore, and Sophia had been all too happy to accompany her to the gate, to get away from the glares), there had been nothing to take her mind off the fact that, in a few hours' time, she was expected to show up at Kuja's door. For dinner. Wearing a dress. It was practically a date! The word made her queasy, and she paused in her wanderings to lean against the stone wall of the castle passage.

For the past hour she'd been aimlessly travelling the secret passages of the castle, going wherever her feet had taken her, her mind completely lost in her own circling thoughts. How come she was so absolutely lost? After all that she'd been through, and a simple dinner invitation had her at her wit's end!

She'd dined with far greater than him in her time. She was of noble birth, after all. She'd been dining with Dukes and Duchesses, the creme of society, since she was old enough to sit up and tell the difference between forks. And besides, at all the other dinners she'd attended, she'd been expected to adhere by a very specific code of conduct, and her mother had been there, breathing down her neck, to ensure that conduct be followed down to the punctuation. Compared to that, dinner with Kuja should be heaven; no pressure at all.

And yet ... yet there was more pressure than she'd ever felt before in her life. She knew that she wanted to impress Kuja so badly that her body was completely shutting down because of the stress it created. And the thought of waiting two more hours just sitting and thinking about what might happen when she went to see him was killing her.

She pushed off from the wall, with no clear destination in mind. She just knew that, as long as she was walking, she was safe from the thoughts running away with her common sense. As long as she kept moving forwards, so did the clock, and that was less time she'd have to worry about what was going to happen in the future. Why couldn't she just live in the now? She used to be so good at that, while she had been out on the street, picking pockets. She'd lived from moment to moment. What she was going to eat for dinner that night didn't matter until she was hungry; where she would take shelter didn't matter until it rained; who else was around didn't matter until someone posed a threat. And now? Her head hurt from all the what ifs of this dinner.

"Lost, lass?"

She spun on her heel, surprised to say the least. Had she been walking so blond that she hadn't even noticed someone watching her? And indeed, that was the case; the Armourer stood in his doorway, arms crossed across his chest, looking at her from under a sympathetic brow.

"No," she said. "Not lost ... exactly ... Just very, very confused." He moved aside slightly and she took the invitation to come in, squeezing past and into the dark room beyond. A seat was produced and she accepted it readily. "It's just that, I've got something coming up tonight, and I'm not ... well, nervous about it, exactly ... I'm just ..."

"Scared out of your mind."

Sophia paused in the act of wringing her fingers and sighed. "Yes. Yes, you're right. I am scared out of my mind about going through with this."

"So, what is it?" The Armourer had picked up the chain mail shirt he'd been working on and took a seat opposite her. "This thing that's got you all worked up. Audience with the Queen? Formal changing of the Guard in front of the whole city?"

The words were a forlorn whimper. "Dinner with Kuja."

He tried not to snicker, and he covered up the smirk he was wearing with the back of a soot-stained hand. "Oh. Well then. Whatever did you do to merit an invitation like that?"

Sophia, thankfully, was looking at her feet, and so didn't see the amusement in her companion's eyes. "I wish I knew." Her voice was mournful.

"Okay, okay. I'm gonna level with you. I have no idea why exactly you think this is so bad."

She looked up at him with a sigh. "Well ... the whole thing started when he sent me the invitation, along with a dress. I haven't tried the dress on yet, but I know it's going to fit, so I can't use that as an excuse not to go -- Why are you laughing at me!"

The armourer turned away from her, his shoulders shaking with mirth. "I'd say," he managed to choke out, "that you need to get out more."

"Thanks," she told him dryly.

"Come now lass!" He got himself back under control, and started herding her towards the door. "'S not the end of the world! You'll survive this and come back to annoy me once more; I'm sure of that. Now out -- you're going to be covered in soot!"

"Oh," she snapped sarcastically, "we can't have that!"

The door shut securely behind her, barring her response.

---

Two tall glasses of wine later, Riss was feeling far more talkative.

Marcus had been careful only to drink small sips of his beer, although he did it often enough to make it look like he was trying valiantly to down the thing. He'd also been wary of approaching the subject of Riss' friends; girls were touchy that way, he'd found. Express too much interest in one of their friends and they'd fly off the handle at you! After the first glass of wine and the initial spot of charm, however, Riss was more than willing to gush about all aspects of her life at the Palace. If she'd noticed that Marcus was less willing to gush about his life, she didn't bring it up.

"I saw you leave by the palace gates today," he said, shortly after she'd plunged into her third glass. "Was that one of your friends from your squadron with you ...?"

"Oh, yes! That's Sophia -- the new recruit that I was telling you about."

Bingo! He had a name to go on now. Good.

Riss took another sip of wine, and then grinned at him, showing perfectly white teeth, her eyes sparkling. "I'm so jealous -- she has a date tonight."

"A-a date?" Not good. Really not good. He had a name to go on ... but that name might be attached to another one, of a far less desirable variety.

"Yeah. Don't ask me how, but she managed to catch Kuja's eye. He sent her this **gorgeous** dress and everything ..." She sighed and looked down at what was left of her glass of wine. "I just couldn't stick around to watch her pace anymore -- she's so nervous! Besides, she won't wear any makeup, so it's not like there was anything for me to do anyways ..."

A date! She'd gotten herself a date! And just who was this Kuja guy anyways?

"Who exactly is Kuja?" he asked, as casually as he could manage.

Riss gave him an incredulous look, and Marcus returned it with a sheepish grin. She immediately softened, and the explanation spilled from her wine loosened lips. "Kuja's one of the Queen's higher-ups; an adviser of hers, and I guess he's sort of a general, too. Word around the castle is that he was with her during the recent attack on Burmecia, and it was his magic that helped when the Queen sent her forces to Cleyra."

Marcus found it hard to believe that he hadn't already heard of this guy, or that Tantalus hadn't been warned. They liked to keep tabs on the people who were gaining in magical ability -- that way, they could stay far away from them. Even they weren't crazy enough to rob someone that powerful.

"So ... where's he from?" Marcus managed to ask, his mouth suddenly dry.

"No one knows," Riss replied, offering a shrug. "He just kind of ... showed up."

Yeah, just showed up. Marcus looked glumly at his beer, then drained the rest of the glass. Showed up and ran off with my Pickpocket.

---

For the millionth time, Sophia ran a hand through her hair, then kicked herself for her nervous habit, and set to work rearranging her bangs around her face. She was pale, her hands unsteady with nerves, and she had to remind herself to keep breathing.

Again, she checked the clock. Five minutes to seven. She gathered her courage, and then gathered whatever strength she had left in her watery muscles as she got to her feet and straightened the front of the red wine coloured dress. It really did bring out the red in her hair, she remarked to herself once again, with a small, somewhat nervous grin. Somehow she'd been roped into wearing eyeliner and mascara; her eyes sparkled against the black makeup. She hoped Kuja wouldn't noticed the nervousness that glimmered through her mascara.

The air in the room was heavy with envy as she carefully gathered the dress in front of her feet, so that she could walk without stepping on it. Silently, she thanked whatever higher power may be listening for every second that her mother had spent tirelessly forcing the rules of etiquette into her head. If she ever had a daughter, she was going to do the same thing; why would anyone **not** force their children to learn everything that etiquette had to offer when there was even a minuscule chance that they might dine with Kuja!

Maybe she was overreacting just a bit. She wouldn't have to train her kids as much as her mother trained her; by the time they were old enough, there probably wouldn't be much chance of them dining with Kuja anyways. At least, not with him still as a romantic prospect.

Far too soon, she found herself at Kuja's door. She raised her hand to knock, thought better of it, and lowered it to her side again. But ... then again, maybe she should knock. The door, if she remembered properly, was quite thick; Kuja might not hear her if she called to him. She certainly couldn't just barge in ...

"Are you planning on standing there all day? Or are you busy contemplating the most impressive way to knock?"

Sophia spun around, her heart hammering painfully into her ribcage. Kuja stood mere feet away from her, smirking, his arms crosses across his chest, his head at a jaunty angle. She felt her face heat up, and she turned away slightly to hide it as best she could.

Kuja gave his trademark chuckle of amusement, and leaned passed her to open his door, beckoning for her to enter before him.

Sophia, faced with no other choice, strode in, her heart in her throat.


End file.
